The Threat of Her Laughter
by cara797
Summary: War is over and Draco Malfoy tries to figure out where does peace leave him. A retake on HPDH where Draco joins the Order on the night of Bill and Fleur's wedding. (ON HIATUS)
1. Prologue

Title taken from "The End of the Affair" by Ben Howard.

I do not own Harry Potter, so anything that feels remotely familiar is not mine.

Big thanks to Lucy for beta-ing! All remaining errors are my own.

I really really appreciate reviews!

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

It's the 2nd May 1998, and muggle London greets the new morning by squinting at the weak sun shining through a couple of stubborn grey clouds whilst sipping on their to-go coffees and nodding off against a stranger's shoulder on the tube.

None of them has any idea that life as they know it could have easily been snapped off their fingers if Harry Potter hadn't killed Voldemort mere hours ago, while they slept through the night without a single worry in the world.

Draco Malfoy, in muddy, tattered clothing and hair that is too long for his liking, if the way he keeps brushing it off his forehead is anything to go by, seems to consider this very issue as he watches the commuters and joggers and suited up businessmen from a corner in Kensington.

His fingertips fly to his temples and his brow furrows in irritation. He seems to have a headache. He may have just realized but it's most likely been there for hours. Perhaps since the battle ended. Since Potter's arm came down, shaking. His wand still vibrating and sending little sparks from the tip as everyone stood silently. For an instant that had a sense of reverence to it, there had been no sound whatsoever. But soon enough, all hell broke loose. People were running around in absolute chaos, fighting the hooded figures with renewed strength, calling out names, or already mourning their loved ones. As for the Death Eaters, those who didn't try to escape, turned their wands against themselves to end it all on their own terms.

Draco sighs and starts walking again aimlessly as he has been doing for the past four or five hours. He looks the kind of tired that takes a very long time to build up.

For him, war started at age fifteen when he came home for the summer holidays. On the train to King's Cross, he'd told Goyle about how much he longed for his own bed and being able to play quidditch whenever he wanted without having to ask permission to use the pitch. What he didn't tell him was that he especially longed to forget Amos Diggory's animalistic howl when he saw the inert body of his son at the entrance of the maze.

But instead he found there were several rooms −and later on, a whole wing of Malfoy Manor− he was now banned from. His mother couldn't stop wringing her perfectly immaculate hands and would often send him off to his friends' houses after muffled floo-calls in the wee hours of the morning.

The more shadows and foreign voices that invaded his childhood home, the more he took an interest in the hooded figures. He knew by then −he most probably couldn't remember a time when he had _not_ known− what they were and what they wanted, but the air of danger and secrecy around them allured him as much as scared him. His mother would simply not give answers to his prying, so he started snooping around the clandestine meetings and, one memorable time, he hid in the dining room for hours after catching wind of a gathering. His father found him after everyone else had left, and instead of telling him off, he poured him his first glass of Firewhisky and prattled away about the grandeur and righteousness of their family name. Draco was no stranger to these declarations or the stench of black magic, and if that time his father's words were imbued with revived ardour and the room reeked like never before, he was too busy sipping on the amber liquid to really notice.

After a while, a very particular sort of atmosphere invaded the whole house when _He_ came back. It resembled the humidity of winter somewhere near the sea where no matter how many robes, how many warming charms, there was nothing that could chase the bone-deep cold away.

Draco would watch the constant rush of people getting in and out and screw up his nose at the blood stains permanently smeared on the floors (the house-elves's relentless scrubbing was to no avail), and the occasional lifeless carcass of rodents brought in by Nagini. It all became a blur eventually. More screams, more meetings, a very big chair when he was too young, and his pale arm extended forward, like an offering, teeth clenched and ready for the pain.

And then a mission.

Draco stops in his tracks and rubs his eyes with a little too much force. He seems to realise that he has been awake for way too long. It's a wonder he's still standing, really. His eyes aren't completely focused, and recurrent thoughts, old memories and angry voices all flood in his mind without pause. Always too loud, too bright and always demanding his full attention.

From time to time, his whole posture tenses and he sucks in a breath and bites the inside of his cheeks in anticipation. Panic crosses his features, a rush of adrenaline shooting through him as he starts walking faster, wand hidden in his right sleeve and looking around him with suspicion and caution. But even in the midst of it, there is still hesitation to his movements, almost as if his muscles couldn't decide whether to tense or relax, as if he wasn't sure whether to leave and hide or wield his wand and start hexing an invisible enemy.

He slumps his shoulders and hides a yawn in the neck of his muggle coat, a sense of defeat to his eyes. He must have finally reached the conclusion that he needs a bed, and perhaps a shower, too. He seems to have started to pick up on the looks the pedestrians he passes by are giving him. He is filthy and a bit bloody, but he doesn't really seem to mind it. For a second, his eyes turn glassy, and he doesn't blink for a very long time, as if he was deep in thought again. Perhaps trying to figure out whether there was any other path he could have taken.

The young man starts to look for quieter, emptier streets, distractedly searching for a hidden spot or a deserted street he can apparate from.

 _1st August 1997_

A hunched figure meanders through the empty streets of Diagon Alley with difficulty. The unexpectedly brisk summer night is making him shake, and he hugs himself, as if to keep warm. He takes refuge in the shadows and despite his limp and ragged breath he moves fairly quickly.

His eyes are on the ground as he drums his finger against the strap of the leather rucksack he is carrying. It appears to be almost completely empty, yet the blond man's movements seem to indicate that whatever's inside is rather heavy.

He trips several times, and beads of dark and warm liquid drip from his clothes. He finally makes a swift turn right and enters an alleyway. He stays in the shadows that render him invisible, right by a hidden small door with a sign that reads "Authorised staff only. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

The blond has stopped shaking now, as if all of a sudden, he couldn't feel the cold, yet his lips are turning paler by the minute.

His face becomes visible when he raises his head to watch the entrance of the alleyway and the moonlight hits him. His traits are contorted by pain and he breathes heavily. He gasps, and his vision seems to blur, his legs failing him and causing him to trip over his own feet even though he's standing still. He seems about to collapse. He watches his blood-drenched clothes drip to the floor ominously, like the tick-tock of a clock.

Finally, a loud crack breaks the stillness of the night and the hunched figure lets out a barely audible whimper of relief.

Three silhouettes stand at the entrance of the alley and move quickly towards the concealed door. Two men, intently whispering to each other and a woman, shorter and barefoot, follows them. She's holding a pair of high heels in her left hand, and on her right hand he clutches her wand so tight that her knuckles are white. The furtive presence spots the other two wizards' wands, also at the ready. Invested as they are in their conversation, they don't seem to notice the hidden man at the bottom of the alleyway.

The pale moonlight shines on them and their red-haired heads clash against the pitch black of the night. The men are in formal bright-coloured robes. The woman, though she might be better described as a girl, is wearing a dark blue dress. Her hair is tangled and ruffled, and many strands of hair have fallen out of her intricate braided hairdo. They are all equally muddy and dishevelled and one of the young men has blood splattered all over his face.

The hidden figure makes to talk but no sound comes out of his lips. They won't see him if he doesn't move. He presses a hand against his chest and can almost feel his heart slowing down.

One of the two young men, who are identical except for the bloody face, points his wand at the door and starts taking down the protective wards. They are now close enough that the hunched shape hidden in the shadows can hear what they're saying.

"I'm telling you, they won't look under their noses. Not tonight. It's safe to stay here but tomorrow we move. A safe house was not an option, we could have had someone tail behind in our apparition. You−" but the other twin interrupts him, "We need to do something about Gin, she can't very well−"

"Shut it, George," says the bloody-faced one, "You know how it works. We need to wait for at least a couple hours, just in case someone was as bright as you and wanted to invite a couple of Death Eaters back for tea by leading them to their homes. If we have no news from Grimmauld being compromised, we will take her to Bill so he can take her there." His harsh tone doesn't quite match the uncertain look he shoots towards the short girl, and he exhales one last frustrated comment, "Bloody _Fidelius Charm_..."

The other one nods, and his features soften. "I will send a Patronus to Lee, we'll meet with him in the morning. It's earlier than we thought but−"

"Fred, George," says a tense and high-pitched voice, demanding attention.

The hunched figure tries to focus his eyes but frowns, as though it was a great physical effort. He can now see that the short barefoot girl is pointing at him with her wand, eyes sharp and grim and lips set straight in a fine line.

The young wizard shows them the palms of his hands slowly, so they can see he's not wielding a wand.

He will later blame his predicament for what came out his mouth. He could have done so much better. He could have stated his intentions, sworn he meant no harm, offered them what they wanted, the item in his rucksack that he was supposed to bargain for his life.

It's three wands against one, and his doesn't even count since he has been cursed with a _Sectumsempra_ and can barely lift his arm high enough to cast a spell. But his eyes are tired, and he is in so much pain that he can't breathe, or apparently think properly. He grits his teeth, forcing his croaked voice to finally come out as he bluntly asks: "How was the wedding?"

The three siblings are on him with fists and hexes and insults before he can wave the proverbial white flag.

 _2nd May 1998_

Draco has now arrived at his destination. He climbs the four steps in front of him slowly and heavily, as if his weight had suddenly been doubled. Some kind of alarm goes off in his mind, but he seems to be in a daze still, as if he couldn't quite make himself analyse what might be wrong. He takes his wand and rest its tip against the doorknob of the main entrance, as he used to do on the gates of Malfoy Manor. Magic spills over him questioningly and after a moment the house recognises him. Only when he enters and hears the screams coming from the portrait of Walburga Black, does he really wake from his reverie.

Commotion and realisation enlighten his features as he realises where he is. Draco looks around him first, just to confirm that yes, he is in fact in the hallway of the old Black family home. He then frowns at his feet as if wondering how he got there without consciously deciding to. He can hear low voices in the living room and he remains still for a whole minute, then he half-turns towards the exit, making to leave but ends up taking a hesitant step towards the corridor. He hasn't eaten anything in twenty-four hours and, as his survival instincts kick in, his feet lead him to the kitchen.

There, he finds Hermione. The last time he saw her she was a mess. Her hair was in her face and her skin so dirty, it looked like the tiny freckles in her cheeks had extended like a virus all over her body. It's obvious she's had a shower, since her skin is back to being nearly translucid and her hair is tame enough and gathered in a low ponytail.

Her back is to the door, but she looks over her shoulder when she hears his footsteps approaching. Draco doesn't miss her wand, which she's pointing roughly in the direction of the kitchen's entrance, just in case. Her grip relaxes when she sees him, and she uses it instead to stir her tea with a quiet spell and sits at the long table, possibly due to her trembling legs, which she doesn't want him to notice.

Draco goes straight to one of the cupboards and finds the crackers easily. Hermione starts talking and her voice is strained from too much screaming. When he turns to look at her, he sees how she hangs her head, though if in relief or sorrow no one can tell. A pale hand darts up and brushes away a lock of curly hair that's escaped from her hair tie.

"We thought you were dead," she mutters, stopping and looking at him now. Her eyes sweep his face, trying to look for something, and it's not clear by her features what it is or whether she finds it. "Or that you had gone back to them."

Her lower lip quivers the tiniest bit and he sits on the bench opposite her. It's a mere statement that holds the lightest touch of reproach, but he doesn't seem to feel attacked or guilty in the slightest. He puts a whole cracker into his mouth and swallows, barely chewing it before responding in a raspy voice.

"Which of the two did you hope for?"

He tries not to show it but he's curious. Ultimately, the mark on his arm will always be there, no matter how hard he rubs at it in the shower.

"Neither seemed likely," she says, instead of responding to his question.

He looks intently in her direction, somewhat surprised because he thinks he heard a smile in her words. But she's already facing away as she gets up to leave, her arm lightly brushing the nape of his head in her way out of the room.

"Shacklebolt and some others are here to make all the arrangements," she whispers.

Draco looks at her, raising an eyebrow that disappears under his fringe, but almost instantly, his eyes turn dark and grim with understanding.

"Funerals," she replies simply, no sign of smile in her voice this time.


	2. I

_Tada! Here's chapter one. I know it's slow-paced but I'm trying to set the context and follow the canonical storyline as much as possible, so bear with me!_

 _Kudos to my beta Lucy!_

 _Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 **I**

 _8th May 1998_

It's early in the morning, and the floorboards in the fourth floor creak in sync with fast-paced steps. As the old house's whines echo through the level below, a timid sunbeam intrudes into one of the small rooms facing east, catching a cascade of dust and turning it into golden specks that fall over an unsuspecting figure. Still in bed and huddled under an old wool blanket, the half-asleep boy stirs.

When the persistent squeaking continues, he rolls over and stifles a groan against his pillow. After a few moments, a blond head emerges, and Draco finally sits up with another groan, pushing the wool blanket and thin sheet away from him in annoyance.

The sudden movement makes him flinch, his irritated expression turning into a painful grimace as he cradles his arm. His whole body hurts, and when he stretches out his back, something cracks at the base of his neck. He sucks in a quick breath and rises a hand to massage his nape in circles. The wooden panels creak insistently, and Draco lets out an aggravated huff.

There is a fair amount of people still at Grimmauld, most of them strays who have nowhere to return to after the war. And yet the young man curses a name under his breath, the exasperated certainty in his features suggesting he has a pretty good idea of who it is that won't let him sleep.

Draco stays there, sitting on his bed in only a white t-shirt full of holes and his boxers. His gaze travels upwards to look at the ceiling and trails the squeaking noises which move away from directly above him, along the upstairs corridor, and towards the staircase. Every step on the stairs whinges under the early bird's weight. The creaking approaches his room, and Draco screws his eyes shut.

There's a timid knock on the door, but before the young man can respond, the door cracks open, and a bushy head of curls appears in the narrow space. Hermione peeks into the room and at seeing him awake, a trace of surprise glistening in her eyes, she pushes the door completely open. She's wearing an unflattering and ugly black dress and a dark grey jumper that's too big on her. That's all she's been wearing lately, funeral-appropriate attire.

Draco, on the other hand, has stayed home for every single one of them. He hasn't told her anything either, but she's carrying a bundle of dark clothes in her arms. It's almost as if she knew, and if she didn't, the grave set of his jaw gives him away now, that today he's planning to break out of that routine.

"I've been going through the wardrobes upstairs and all I could find were these," she says from the doorjamb, her voice quiet.

Draco mouth opens, but before any foul words escape his lips, his eyes dart to an old chair in the corner that has been buried under all his clothes. They are his _now_ , anyway, but they used to belong to his distant relatives. His distant dead relatives. War doesn't leave much time for shopping, and so he's been gracefully wearing Sirius and Regulus Black's hand-me-downs since he arrived at Grimmauld Place. It's a matter of necessity, but there's something blasphemous about roaming into the humid, spider-ridden rooms and rummaging through dead men's wardrobes, digging up discoloured quidditch magazines and old Hogwarts uniforms in search of a pair of socks.

All the clothes he's discarded on top of the chair, however, are destroyed beyond magic or manual mending from blood and curses and wearing them through for months on end. Draco's head hangs, irritated and defeated, and he looks at Hermione and her bundle of robes again. He huffs, but gets up to take the clothes from her, barely nodding his head in acknowledgement.

His hand accidentally brushes against hers, and they both stare down at the flesh in contact for a moment. She used to be much tanner than him, but death and winter seem to have changed her pigmentation and now she's an ashy tone, much like his own skin. The veins on her wrists are visible, too; purple and intricate like a maze. And when he looks up and into her eyes he seems to notice her eyebags, where the same dark veins, except finer and smaller, are also discernible. The air in the room shifts and suddenly there is harsh disdain in the way he lets his hand drop, looking down at her.

When he talks, his voice is hoarse with sleep and malice.

"You don't need to mother me, Granger." Her eyes shoot up to look at him, lips quivering with anger, but she's too tired, and she remains silent. The inconspicuous way in which her mouth twitches downward for a millisecond is all sadness under the resentment. He keeps talking. "I'm not mentally challenged like Potter or Weasley, I don't want you to bring me snacks and blow my nose. We owe each other nothing."

She snorts humourlessly and glances down at the pile of clothes in her arms, either pondering whether to take them with her, or perhaps attempting to hide her face. In the end, she just shoves everything into Draco's chest with a little too much force and exits the room without a word. The wooden floors start creaking again under her feet on the hallway, as if the house was mocking her.

:::

It takes him ages to access the cemetery. The layers upon layers of spells and wards are decidedly excessive, but the Ministry has started to implement new safety policies to protect the tombs and memorials of the fallen after some halfwit Death Eater sympathiser interrupted Fred Weasley's funeral.

At any rate, almost every single incantation put into place picks up on his dark mark and throws him out. The rest of attendees have no trouble entering the graveyard and are turning to look at him. Draco grits his teeth and tries to cross the threshold for the third time, his nose scrunched up in annoyance and his hands clenched in fists, when a small hand with long fingers grabs his upper forearm. He can feel the cold metal of numerous rings, and as the hand tugs him forward, he hears a feminine voice conjure a spell he cannot make out. Andromeda Tonks guides him through the magical barrier and once inside comes to a halt. She's wearing all black, hair up in an elegant low bun and a sleeping baby cradled in her arms.

She's all pride and aplomb but there's a gesture on her mouth that suggests she's trying hard to keep it that way. When she talks, her voice is perfectly calm.

"I need word with you," she says, looking ahead and then down at the infant. "Later, when it's all done."

Draco sets his jaw straight, and his face is completely empty of feeling when he nods his head, wary. She looks at him a little bit longer than necessary, and he takes notice of the way her numerous rings, one in each of her fingers, glisten in the sun, then she lets go of his arm and keeps on walking.

He stays there for a second, his eyes glued to the back of his aunt's back, and it's only a moment later that a soft voice startles him out of his thoughts.

"Had you ever met her before?" Dean Thomas asks, and Draco shakes his head distractedly. It might very well be the second or third time in their lives the two young men have actually interacted with each other, but as they stand side by side, looking before them at the crowd slowly gathering around two tombs, Thomas offers him a small metal flask, and Draco accepts it without question, as if they had done it a thousand times before. "She looks so much like…"

The former Slytherin takes a generous sip and purses his lips in disgust, his eyes darting towards his aunt. "She does," he whispers, finishing Thomas' sentence and handing him his flask back. The former Gryffindor's attention is already elsewhere, and he fumbles to hide it in the inside pocket of his jacket. He has spotted Hestia Jones and Seamus Finnegan, and he leaves Draco's side with a grave nod.

The burial of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks doesn't drag on long. Draco can hear Minerva McGonagall weeping discreetly a few feet to his right and Hagrid's enormous body is slumped down in the visual representation of grief. Potter, standing right at the front and a few steps behind Andromeda, has put an arm around Ginevra Weasley's trembling shoulders and is holding Hermione's hand tightly. Draco remains stoic but averts his gaze when the coffins are levitated to the bottom of the tombs, and soon, it's all over.

Andromeda Tonks pretty much shrugs off anyone's attempt at establishing a conversation with her, and simply nods respectfully at everyone, her mouth sealed in a fine line as she approaches Draco. Without a word, they start making their way out of the cemetery side by side.

"We are family," the black-haired woman states without preambles.

Draco nods, but he looks sceptical, and his aunt seems to pick up on that when she continues, "Your mother and I didn't have the best relationship, but she was my family and you're all that's left of her." She pauses and looks him up and down. "Even if you look nothing like her."

He doesn't flinch but the words she hasn't said linger between them − he's the splitting image of his father.

"Is there something you wanted to discuss?" he asks in a just barely polite tone, and he stops in his tracks, forcing Andromeda to imitate him. The blond man's gaze darts down towards the baby when he babbles. Draco looks up quickly at the older woman with a furrowed brow.

"My daughter had a small apartment, inherited from her paternal grandparents. She never used it" She hesitates. "I won't be using it either, and I've heard from Arthur Weasley that Malfoy Manor has been confiscated by the Ministry until further notice, so I'm offering my house to you. For the sake of my daughter's friendship towards you and for Narcissa." Her eyes soften, and she looks older, gentler. "Nymphadora told me what your mother…" she pauses, smiles a little and then shakes her head. "There's no point in going back to that, is there?"

He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't need to because Teddy starts crying peevishly. Draco makes a pained face as the older woman tries to soothe him by conjuring a few colourful sparks around his head, but it doesn't work. He looks away as Andromeda rocks the baby back and forth and clicks her tongue resolutely when the weeping finally stops. "I will owl you the address in a couple of days."

She starts walking again without another word and Draco's voice finally seems to work. "Mrs. Tonks," he blurts out, but the uncertainty that crosses over his features makes it clear that he doesn't really know how to go on. Luckily, Andromeda doesn't even let him try. She doesn't turn back as she says, "It's only the three of us now, Draco."

She avoids the group of people gathered around the exit, holding Teddy very close to her chest, as if she were gripping a lifeline. Her slender figure looks smaller and helpless from a distance, now that her piercing eyes aren't fixed on him.

Draco starts walking slowly, hands in his pockets and eyes glued to his feet, ignoring the whispers and stares around him. At arriving at the cemetery's entrance, Draco looks over his shoulder, scanning the crowd until he finds a head of bushy curls. Hermione appears to be quietly exchanging pleasantries with Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. The blond wizard averts his gaze and continues walking to the apparition point.

 _August to October 1997_

He wakes up almost two days later in Remus Lupin's house.

The first thing Nymphadora Tonks says to him when he wakes up, angry face and short pink bob looming over him, is proof of her poise and eloquence. Her wand, only two millimetres from his nose, the warmest of welcomes.

"What the fuck is that thing in your bag?"

And thus, it starts. They try everything: _Legilimency_ from a wide range of so-called experts who all dive into his personal memories and thoughts, Veritaserum in all his water and food for days on end and thorough interrogations, threats to end his life from short-tempered wizards, memory extractions that are as painful as if they were pulling out his fingernails one by one, and on one particularly memorable night, the _Cruciatus_ curse. It goes on for about two weeks, and then Lupin visits him in one of Grimmauld Place's spare rooms, where they've locked him since his arrival. His old professor looks taciturn and grave.

"Your… _contribution_ to our cause is very much appreciated, Draco, but I hope you understand that I'm in no position to offer you a place among us. Your alliances are obviously…" He coughs and looks at him sternly. "…volatile, and we can't risk letting you go out of this room unsupervised. If what we've found out is true, and I don't think you could be lying to us, you've betrayed the Dark Lord, and therefore are in danger out there. The _Sectumsempra_ you were cursed with is proof enough... I won't turn you away, but I'm sorry boy, we just cannot risk it."

As it turns out, though, the Order is short of militants and, ear against the floor, Draco can hear meetings and eavesdrop a couple of hushed conversation in the corridor outside his room. There are not enough resources, not enough intel, not enough wizards to stop the Death Eater's advances. A week later, he asks to see Lupin again and bargains his freedom in exchange for helping out in minor tasks and chores. He is then given his wand back and allowed to go around the house as he pleases, even though he's banned from going outside and is monitored at all times.

Apart from people shooting insults −if he's lucky− or hexes −if he's not− at him, it's not all that bad. He brews potions, from Blood-Replenishing concoctions to Sleeping Draughts and everything in between for the injured, and joins the healing efforts after especially rough missions. During this time, he duels a nameless wizard with a grudge against his great-grandfather and gets into a couple of fistfights with two different Weasleys.

As the days pass him by, he becomes more restless and takes to locking himself up in the room with the family tree tapestry. He tries to distract himself by reading everything he can get his hands on and listening to other people's conversations. He learns that Harry Potter and his two minions are away on a secret mission of sorts that not many people know about. He even overhears Molly Weasley complain to Shacklebolt that she doesn't know where her son is apart from what she's been able to coax out of Lupin –by means of emotional blackmail– which is that they need to find something of great value for the Order. It doesn't take Draco too much to figure out what exactly the golden trio must be looking for.

Like the good Slytherin he is, Draco waits patiently for something that is bound to happen and makes a point not to fight anyone else. There're still too many slots to fill in mission rotations, and on a rainy miserable evening after a month and a half of imprisonment, Shackelbolt calls him into the meeting room. He asks him to subject himself to an _Unbreakable Vow_ and swear that he will not sabotage them in any way. Draco complies, and he's sent on his first mission for the Order.

The other members are not happy in the slightest. McGonagall does nothing but hiss the first time she sees him at a meeting, Mundungus Fletcher seems to believe he is, for the first time in his life, superior to someone else and rejoices in the fact, and Oliver Wood protests every time Lupin teams them up and tries to abandon him during patrols in two different occasions.

Draco, too, seems revolted at first at being ordered around by people he despises and who return his feelings accordingly, but he keeps his head down and his jaw clenched through it all and does a decent job. And soon enough, he becomes another piece in their intricate game of chess, and no matter how insignificant, every pawn counts.

A lot of information is conscientiously kept from him, often being sent on a mission without context or further explanation than to obey his section leader. After a while, he notices that the shadows that follow him everywhere, hanging from old chandeliers, following him down the corridor and slipping underneath the bathroom door, disappear, and he knows they have stopped spying on him.

In mid-October, Tonk's father dies on the run as a muggle-born fugitive. The bubbly, joyful girl turns sour and unpleasant to everybody except, surprisingly, Draco. Now she randomly starts conversations with him in the middle of a mission or during an important meeting, in the living room while he is reading the newspaper or late at night when he's on his way to his room. She doesn't seem to mind Draco's snappy remarks or the fact that she usually conducts conversations entirely by herself. Sometimes she chooses light subjects like how good Remus' pasta bake is, while other times she looks intently at him and tells him hatred is what got her father killed and she's not about to become their enemy.

Draco makes no effort to hide his irritation and tries everything he can think of to get her to stop pestering him, but no amount of cruelty drives her away. In the end, he gives up and sulks and rolls his eyes, but he starts to listen.

Tonks must be around four months along and starting to show when Draco crosses Lupin in the hallway and suggests he takes his wife off the mission rotations. The sandy-haired man gives him an appreciative look and tells him she'd kill him before she lets that happen.


	3. II

_Hey, thanks for the reviews on the last chapter!_

 _From here onwards, I will most probably update sometime during the weekend :)_

 _As always, thanks Lucy!_

 _Thanks for reading!_

* * *

 **II**

 _29th October 1997_

Once Lupin has run through the mission for the last time and leaves the meeting room hurriedly, the rest of the Order members slump down into their chairs.

Vivian Gladstone, an Auror in her thirties, lets out a melodramatic sigh and is about to launch herself into another one of her rants about how badly coordinated everything is and how it is a miracle the Order still stands when something else catches her attention. Hugo Brent and Sturgis Podmore, two veterans from the First Wizarding War, start discussing strategies, and she butts into their conversation just to make sure "it's not Edinburgh all over again".

Rolling his eyes at their bickering, Bill Weasley stands up and goes over to the radio that is on top of the fireplace. He looks tired as he taps his wand against the device and mumbles that week's password. A moment later, Lee Jordan's voice starts floating around the room. He seems to have embarked in Potterwatch's most acclaimed segment, where he presents a surprisingly thorough account of marriages between pure-blood families and inbreeding and proceeds to question the mental and magical abilities of famous Death Eaters that are the offspring of said matches. Bill leans against the lit fire for warmth and chuckles in a low tone.

Still sitting at the table, Oliver Wood and Wendy Keen fuss over a report on recent Death Eaters sightings in Southern England that they should have handed in four days ago.

Draco observes it all from a corner, like a crow perched on the highest branch of the tree, watching with uninterested eyes how the squirrels run up and down. He seems deep in thought until Brent approaches him.

"Hey lad." His tone is far from being as friendly as the nickname suggests, but at least this time he's not pointing his wand at the young man's neck.

These days, and almost undoubtedly as a direct cause of Tonks and Lupin's influence, Draco has been graced with the unimaginable honour of being talked to in a mostly neutral, if still suspecting, manner. Nonetheless, the way his jaw clenches indicates he's not holding his breath for friendship bracelets just yet.

"Remember, you and Wendy stay in the rear tomorrow, yeah? Keep an eye out for us." Draco doesn't bother replying and simply nods his head. He doesn't seem upset that Lupin's orders were very different from Brent's suggestion but that might just be because it's happened many times. They don't trust him, and so they are always on edge when Draco is appointed on a mission. Consequently, he's often asked to "stay in the rear", a nicer way of getting him out of their way but keep him close enough for someone to keep tabs on him. It seems as if Wendy has drawn the shorter straw this time.

Lee's mellow voice is now going over what to do if someone spots the _Morsmodre_ mark and other safety protocols of the sort. Tips and warnings are also a constant in their programming, and Oliver grumbles something in the general direction of the radio about how it's the hundredth time they've talked about it this month and if there's someone who _still_ doesn't know their glamours and wards, they're already dead anyway. Wendy elbows him, trying to get him to concentrate on their report.

All of a sudden, the crackling fire darts out in an eruption, licking at the brick walls of the hearth and causing Bill to jump two feet away with an alarmed growl. A beautiful face appears in the flames as Fleur Weasley's eyes look around the room of astonished Order members until she finds her husband. Her distressed grimace looks completely foreign in her soft features. She doesn't skip a beat when Bill opens his mouth to speak, and interrupts him in rushed French.

"Bill, _retourne_ _à_ Shell Cottage. _Ton frère vient d'arriver_." She looks over her shoulder and swears a breathless " _Putain_ ", she returns her eyes to the flames and continues in an intent and emphatic tone. " _Ton_ plus jeune _frère_ , Bill. _Magne-toi le cul!_ "

The graceful face melts into the coals and embers as fast as it appeared, and Bill blinks twice before grabbing his coat from a nearby chair −tugging it down noisily in the process− then dashing out the door without a word.

Commotion takes over the room as everyone questions what that girl said, what is so urgent that he left in such a hurry, and since when does Bill Weasley know French anyway, and what language do you reckon they speak in the bedroom.

Draco ignores them completely as his gaze stays fixed in the flames for a moment longer. His grey eyes lit up with curiosity and the reflection of the fire as he mutters, " _Putain_ , indeed."

A few days later, Bill's " _plus jeune frère_ " is escorted by Shacklebolt and Lupin into the meeting room where they lock themselves up for three hours. Ron looks haggard and gaunt and does not make visual contact, nor does he say anything to the acquaintances and friends he meets on their way up.

When they finally come out, none of them seems to be up for an explanation. However, Hestia Jones intercepts them in the hallway on their way into the kitchen, and without preamble, she voices the question everyone has been musing over.

"Is Potter dead?"

The trio of wizards stops short at her abrupt inquiry. Ron flinches first, then as if being asphyxiated by a pair of invisible hands, he turns purpler by the second. Lupin sighs, and Shacklebolt looks around them, noticing that a considerably large audience, listening from the living room and the corridor, is awaiting a response.

Hestia's face darkens at the redhead's reaction, perhaps fearing the inevitability of an affirmative answer. When Ron doesn't make any comment, it's Lupin who takes the floor.

"From what we know, both Mr. Potter and Miss Granger are alive." His voice is collected and serene but his worried eyes fool no one. "A series of unexpected events has driven Ron away from them, but we have every reason to believe they're safe and sound."

Draco is sitting in an armchair by the living room door and Tonks is right behind him, having been pestering him mere moments ago. She stands very still now, as her irises change colour. She does that a lot when she tries to stay calm, since transfigurating minute traits of her appearance, like the length of her nails or the number of freckles down her arms, gives her something to focus on when staying still proves to be a Herculean task.

From his privileged position, Draco has a very good view of the three men undergoing public scrutiny. However, his gaze is unwaveringly fixed on his former classmate. He watches as his face turns from purple to an angry red at Lupin's words.

The cryptic answer does not quite seem to satisfy the audience, but no further question or remark is heard _._ Shacklebolt says his goodbyes and gives Ron a strong pat in the back before leaving. Lupin and the young red-haired man enter the kitchen where a magicked stove has been preparing a barely edible vegetable stew on low heat for the last two hours. As everyone in the living room pick up their conversations where they left off, Hestia looks at Brent, raising an eyebrow in an unvoiced question about _unexpected events._

:::

It takes a full week before Ron confronts Draco. The latter has just come back from a ten-hour job, and his boots leave muddy footprints all over the scratched wooden floorboards that he doesn't bother to clean up.

It hasn't been much trouble, really, just keeping watch on a possible Death Eater hide-out, but the rain hasn't stopped for two weeks straight. They've had to restrain from using any spells to protect themselves from the weather, in case the Death Eaters have any kind of alarm spell, and with each hour, the cold and humidity have seeped through every layer of clothing, finding his bare skin and biting at it viciously. He's tired and soaked to the bone, doesn't smell particularly good, and looks pissed. When Ron blocks his way, just a few feet away from his bed, he hisses irritably.

"Where did you find it?" the redhead asks. He has an accusatory look in his eyes, one that Draco has become all too accustomed to.

"Your mum's arse," he barks, feigning not knowing what his former classmate is referring to. Then, he signals with his hand impatiently. "Move along, Weasley."

"We've been looking for them for months now. Fucking Dumbledore apparently dedicated his last years to finding them, too, and he could only get his hands on two." He has a stern look in his blue eyes and he refuses to let Draco pass when he tries a manoeuvre to duck around him. The former Slytherin snorts, and his irritation turns into icy anger.

"Lupin and Shacklebolt know everything about it. If they haven't told you, maybe it's because they don't trust you." His eyes shine greedily when he sees the effect his comment has on the redhead. Ron's chin is trembling almost imperceptibly, and he looks horrified. Draco's teeth show in a tight smile, glistening in the badly-lit corridor like a sharp dagger catching the light. He presses on. "It's no wonder though, after you just abandoned your oh so beloved friends."

Ron is as white as snow now, and there's guilt in his gaze. Nevertheless, there seems to be some fight still in him because he fires back.

"We won't know if what _you_ broughtis a real Horcrux until we have the tools to destroy it. And if it's all been a farce I swear I will..." The unfinished threat hangs in the air between the two of them. Ron is only a little bit taller than Draco, but he uses every millimetre to tower over him. His freckled nose is inches away from the blond man's face.

"I don't care who you've fooled, I will never forget your name" he mutters, punctuating every word.

"Get out of my way and I might consider telling you what you want to know," Draco retorts, his voice drenched in disdain, and he has no time to prepare himself before Ron pushes him against the wall, hard. Draco grunts and then smiles. "Go on then, Weasel, beat me to a pulp, I won't even try to defend myself. And tomorrow Lupin will have another reason not to trust you."

Ron's eyes seem to be about to come out of his sockets as he shoves Draco against the wall once more, his breath clipped and heavy. His disgust patent in an ugly grimace, he releases Draco and turns around to leave. Draco takes his wand out of his pocket and points it at the wizard's retreating back. A vein pulses in his temple angrily and his wand remains pointed at the wall for a while, even after the redhead turns a corner and is out of reach. Jaw twitching, he lets his hand fall to his side and makes his way to his room.

 _11th May,1998_

Resting on the far corner of one of the rooms in the third floor of 12 Grimmauld Place, there is an unmade single bed, on top of which there is a slightly rumpled piece of parchment. It seems as if someone had pocketed it in a hurry and smoothed it out carelessly. It lays there, unevenly folded in half, the only visible word a name at the bottom of the page: " _Andromeda Tonks_."

The space is nearly empty, and the old-fashioned flowery wallpaper is all chipped off. Under it, the walls are painted an awful dark green. The pile of old clothes has been removed from the chair, the only other piece of furniture in the bedroom, and hanging from it there now is a worn leather rucksack that seems to be half full. Right by the door, there is a pair of muddy hiking boots that have been carelessly chucked away, and a couple of books are lying on the floor by the bed, where a nightstand should have been.

The only tiny window on one of the walls lets the sunlight creep in through the curtains and paints a square of bright light on the room's floor as golden particles dance in the air.

Draco marches inside, the calm lethargy of the space dissipated by his furrowed brown and his heavy steps. In his hand, there is a toothbrush that he shoves into the bag thoughtlessly. He picks up the hiking books from the floor, ties the shoelaces together so that he can hang them over his neck and shoulders the leather rucksack.

A few distant voices leak in through the cracks of the wooden floor. It's impossible to make out exactly what it is they're saying, but there is clearly a reproachful and accusatory tone to them. Draco's face goes from tense to utterly irritated at the familiarity of them.

He looks around and makes for the door but then, almost like an afterthought, his eyes dart towards the bed. He levitates the books on the floor with a harsh _Leviosa._ On their way up to him, a photo slips out through the pages of the bigger volume and glides in the air for a moment like a dead leaf before landing on the floor. Draco crouches down and picks it up.

In the photo, a smiling Harry Potter looks up towards the camera, seemingly surprised, then smiles shyly and does a little wave. The photographer made the mistake of covering part of the lens with their finger so it's hard to spot, but in the background, an oblivious Hermione is talking to someone off shot, and suddenly erupts into laughter, scrunching up her nose unattractively as her hands fly to her mouth.

On the back, neat handwriting reads " _Summer 1996, The Burrow_ "

The young man remains still for a full minute before burning the picture with a quick spell. Curiously, he seems calmer now, and by the time he leaves the room, his expression is completely empty and guarded.

As he makes his way downstairs to the ground floor, two steps at a time, the voices get louder and turn into unintelligible shouting. Draco is passing by the living room, his eyes fixed on the exit, when the door flies open and Hermione's yell escapes to the hallway.

"GET OUT!"

Ron storms out of the room and almost bumps into his former classmate. The redhead nearly growls at seeing Draco, his blue eyes darker than usual. Hermione exits the living room, too, and she seems to be about to resume the yelling when she sees Draco. Her frustration exacerbated by the presence of the blond man, she opens her mouth to say something, but Ron beats her to it.

"What's _he_ still doing here?" he asks harshly over his shoulder at Hermione but dismisses the young witch's attempt at explaining. He turns his attention to Draco and continues. "This is Harry's house, y'know, and the war is over, so you better be out by the time I−"

Hermione makes a face, anger turning to exhaustion, and leans against the wall. She always looks tired, has looked tired for the longest time, like she never sleeps, and fatigue just keeps piling up on the lines in her forehead, and the hollow of her cheeks. She tries to speak again, invoking their age, and where they are, and this is _not_ the time, but Ron isn't done, and her voice is drowned by his when he spits out into Draco's face, "You bloody parasite."

Draco's right hand twitches visibly, as if aching to reach for his wand, or to clench it in a fist and make a target of every freckle on Ron's face. However, all he does is look him directly in the eyes, and give him a crocked, patronising smile. He scoffs and speaks over his shoulder in a falsely light-hearted tone, "I'm already on my way out, Weasel, care to kiss me goodbye?"

Suddenly Ron's hand is on his arm, stopping him from taking another step forward. Draco's eyes travel down to where the redhead's grabbing him, the grip so strong his knuckles whiten, and the former Slytherin's face is distorted by disgust as his cold eyes fire up with aversion. Before he has turned around completely to face the taller boy, Hermione is between them, her back to Draco's chest and shoving at Ron's to keep them at a safe distance from each other.

"Stop behaving like a child, Ronald!" she demands irritably. Ron's eyes are still on Draco and she shoves at him again to get his attention. "And get out! You wanted us to talk and we did!" She inhales sharply, composing herself and lowering her voice before adding, "You need to leave."

Ron breaks visual contact with Draco to stare down at her. Time seems to stop for an instant, and she reaches for Ron's jumper and grabs at it. The next time she talks, her voice trembles.

"Please, Ron. I promise I will−" her voice takes on a conciliatory, earnest tone, but the redhead bats her hands away and turns around to go back into the living room and into the fireplace. A moment later, the flames from the Floo dye the corridor and the two standing bodies a bright green.

Hermione looks at Draco, angry and helpless, and her eyes glimmer when she moves her head, chin pointing at the bag hanging from his shoulder. She looks at him expectantly, but his lips are pursed in a fine line, refusing an explanation. Her face is still tense and raw from the recent fight and she doesn't ask questions. When it's clear neither of them feels like talking, she turns her back to him, and starts climbing the stairs. Draco remains in the same spot in the hallway until he hears the door to her bedroom door slam closed. Then, for the second time that afternoon, he spins around and takes two long strides that separate him from the entrance. He doesn't look back before closing the main door behind him.

 _22th December,1997_

With Christmas around the corner, Molly and Fleur take it upon themselves to hang every atrocious decoration they find in the cellar. They have good intentions and are trying their hardest to make the house cosy for the holidays, but they end up accomplishing the opposite. The charmed cookie cutters locked in a kitchen drawer, rattling and scratching like nails in a coffin are just morbid, the tinsel and garland hung from the ceiling and around the Christmas tree seem to have a mind of their own, and from time to time try to asphyxiate an unsuspecting victim. To make matters worse, Kreacher has taken to humming obscure carols about a pureblood boy's wishes to torture traitors and squibs in various graphic ways.

Still, the Burrow isn't the safest place to host the complete list of wanted wizards and witches by Voldemort's Ministry, and so the Weasleys assemble at Grimmauld Placce with friends, teammates and other Order members, lured by the promise of Molly Weasley's cooking and spiked eggnog. The old house is as crowded as ever, and more often than not, the living room's sofas and armchairs are transformed into bunk beds for those who overindulged in mulled wine, and can hardly hold their wand upright, let alone apparate back home safely.

Ginny comes back from Hogwarts for the holidays and the reunion between her and Ron is the first thing in weeks to make Draco smile. The youngest Weasley is out of her mind and positively murderous when she finds out that her brother has abandoned his friends, and that it's impossible for him to go back to them because he doesn't _know_ where they are. She yells at him and then cries and yells some more. The twins side with her, even if covertly, and it doesn't take much to see that the whole house is in consensus with the young girl.

Two nights later, on the twenty-second of December, Draco is the only one still up, reading an old book in the tapestry room. Suddenly, the street lighting outside switches off and is replaced by a bluish light that catches his attention. He gets up from bed to look through the window. Out in the street is Ron Weasley, coat unbuttoned and his shoelaces still untied. A bright ball of light the size of a hazelnut floats in front of his face and Draco's eyes take in the metal device the redhead is holding in his hand. At times, it picks up the glimmer from the mysterious light and reflects it. Draco needs to look hard when he sees Ron's mouth moving, inspecting the shadows to make sure there's no one else around. As the realisation that he's talking to the ball of light sinks in, Draco snorts, seemingly battling between suspicion and amusement. He supports his weight against the window with his raised left arm, then rests his forehead against it and keeps watching. His breath creates a cloud of white condensation in the glass, but he doesn't seem to notice.

Suddenly, Ron stops talking and the ball of light flies into his open mouth. The street's lampposts turn back on, and Draco watches as Ron swallows. In an instant, the redhead's vanished.


	4. III

_Kudos to my beta!_

 _Don't forget to leave a review!_

* * *

 **III**

 _25th December 1997_

Celebrating Christmas is an interesting affair when in war. The Weasley matriarchs' efforts at decorating are enthusiastically redoubled on the days mounting to Christmas. However, no amount of ornaments is enough to alleviate the apprehensive feeling that looms over the household.

Not the stairs' handrails wrapped in golden tinsel (which have now also started tangling around ankles in their murderous intents). Not the floating candles that Flitwick conjured when he visited the previous day to talk to Lupin. Not the smell of mulled wine and cinnamon biscuits.

None of that is enough to distract anyone for too long. Ron's disappearance, the lack of news from Harry, and the overwhelming rise of Death Eater attacks in muggle and wizarding Great Britain is a heavy load on everyone's shoulder. None laughs when an overly paranoid Mundungus Fletcher throws Esther Caldwell off her feet at the entrance when instead of stating the password right away, she jokingly sing-songs a low-voiced "Ho, ho, ho."

The Christmas tree in the living room that Arthur Weasley brought at Molly's insistence reeks and has already started to rot. None mentions it, but everyone avoids sitting in its proximity and there's an unspoken consensus not to acknowledge the bad omen.

After the Christmas dinner and the present exchange, everyone hastily makes up excuses and leaves, most likely trying to escape from the suffocating atmosphere. Tonks gives Draco a badly-wrapped new belt with a wink −she must have realised the young man is getting thinner and thinner− before making her way towards the fireplace.

Only Hestia Jones and Hugo Brent, who refuse to take any time off, stay at the house, preparing for an easy job in the following days.

Draco roams around the quiet house, making affronted faces at the tacky decoration. He realises that even the paintings are vacant tonight, their inhabitants having perhaps found a better party somewhere else.

When he finally reaches his destination, he downs the glass of Firewhiskey neat he's holding in one go. Since there's nobody around, he allows himself to grimace when the alcohol burns his throat and then, after steeling himself, he enters the room.

He stays near the door, so that he has a full view of the family tree. He sweeps over the faces on the tapestry that seem to follow him with their eyes whenever he moves. After a moment, he takes a couple of steps forward. He then breathes in a big gulp of air as his eyes dart to a specific face. Narcissa Malfoy's painting has a blank look on her face, but the only thing Draco pays attention to is the date under her name. His face is flooded with relief for a second when he sees only one date under her name: _1955._ No death year has appeared yet.

Since he found it a few months after arriving at Grimmauld Place, he's been obsessively checking the tapestry room, usually sneaking in when everyone is asleep. It buys him a few hours of sleep each night, but he doesn't like to stay looking at his distant family too long and so he's quick to leave. Suddenly, a large commotion can be heard a few doors ahead, and he approaches it slowly, as a loud, distorted feminine voice echoes down the corridor. When he opens the door to the meeting room, wand in hand, he watches as a silver otter uses its paws to playfully bounce from wall to wall to ceiling.

Hugo Brent, the only other Order member in the room doesn't even spare Draco a look as he eyes the corporeal _Patronus_ and listen to Hermione Granger's voice. Hestia Jones, breathless and in her nightgown, arrives just in time to hear the last bit of the message.

"…Harry's talking to her now, but there's something wrong, I think it might be a trap. Please send backup."

The delicate animal disappears in a cloud of silver smoke, and a few feet away from Draco, Hestia swears.

:::

Bathilda Bagshot's house looks abandoned from a distance, and Hestia mutters under her breath that she just can't understand why those kids have willingly gone in there. Brent hushes her and asks them to slow down, there might be Death Eaters around. Draco doesn't even turn to look at him, and instead follows Hestia into the house at a quick pace.

The crescent moon is high in the sky, and there are no stars whatsoever beside it. Their breaths are visible in the cold black night, and somewhere not that far away, a dog starts barking, perhaps sensing the village intruders.

When they finally get to the house, they can hear a great ruckus and a loud scream coming from somewhere in the upper levels. The small team barges in the house as quietly as possible, then dashes upstairs. Draco's right arm twitches involuntarily and he frowns, rubbing a hand over his mark and scrunching his nose up at the familiar smell of dark magic.

A stray _Desmaius_ knocks Hestia over and Draco dodges her falling body, surging forward as he presses into the wall. Brent lets out a groan behind him when her body collapses over him.

Draco follows the direction the missed spell came from and enters an attic. He trips over what seems to be the corpse of an old lady, but his attention is soon on the duel taking place a few feet away.

The whole room is flooded by darkness but in the flashes of magic, Draco can make out the two figures hunched on a corner of the room. One of them, who appears to be a man, seems weak and can barely aim a spell in the right direction. It's the other figure who is standing in front of him, that is tirelessly fending off their precarious position.

She's frantically drawing spells in the air in front of her whilst voicing them in a determined and dangerously low voice. Her curly hair is floating around her face in the raw magic that encircles her. The blasts of colour coming from her wand try to ward off the snake that's gliding swiftly towards them, its sharp fangs on display and its forked tongue hissing in delight.

Draco cusses when he recognizes Nagini and wields his wand, ready to kill it, when a spell brushes the tip of his left ear. For a fleeting instant, he locks eyes with Hermione Granger, who's now shaking the young man's shoulder with her left hand whilst she keeps shooting bursts of magic against Draco and the snake alike with her right. She manages cram a few words between spells, "They are here! HARRY! Stay awake, we need to leave _NOW_!"

Every wave of magic that misses the moving targets hits the walls and raises dust in enormous quantities. Draco coughs and holds a hand to his mouth and nose.

Just like Hermione predicted, a noise downstairs alerts them that the main door has been blown away, and Brent's voice can be heard from the second floor as he calls Draco's name and cries havoc. The walls seem to tremble as another duel explodes downstairs. Hermione doesn't stop bombarding the snake and her former classmate.

The snake, perhaps sensing the possibility of success and knowing about the proximity of his allies, abandons all its self-preservation instincts and launches itself at Hermione.

In midst of the chaos, Draco moves to the right, and the two Gryffindors are barely two strides away from him now. He casts curse after curse against Nagini, whose siltted yellow eyes fall on the blond man.

He is nearly hit by a binding curse from Hermione and he shoots a murderous look at the curly-haired woman. "You'd be dead by now if I wanted, Granger," but she isn't listening. She has conjured a _Protego_ around her and Harry, and her whole torso is turned away from the battle, her neck bent to look at her friend, who's scratching at his scar and screaming.

The snake turns its head at the new voice, gliding in Draco's direction at an unbelievably fast pace and tries to sink its fangs into his leg, hissing furiously at him.

As Harry seems to recuperate from his daze, and Hermione's eyes return to the situation at hand, she starts shooting curses again at both, a confused look forming in her eyes when she sees the struggle between her former classmate and the snake.

Harry is now standing on very wobbly legs, and Hermione shakes his shoulders once again, just to be sure, and tells him something nobody else can hear. Harry seems to understand and agree since he grabs her left hand without further comment.

Draco, having followed the pair's movements from the corner of his eye, tries to reach Hermione, but Nagini seems to catch up on the situation and raises part of its body, coming up to Hermione's chest, ready to bite.

The young witch screams and aiming nowhere in particular, she shoots a _Confringo_ that rebounds everywhere so that the blast wave throws them all violently against the walls. Draco is able to cast a _Protego_ and surges forward to catch Hermione's ankle just before she disapparates, Harry in tow.

Hermione kicks at him and scratches his arm, trying to shove him off but he holds on to her right ankle with one hand and her left leg with the other, while the whole world twirls around him.

An instant later their backs hit the hard ground. The few inches of snow that cover it don't do much to cushion the blow and before he has time to even groan, Hermione gets to her feet like an irritated kitten with a bristled tail. Her knee is on Draco's chest in the blink of an eye, but she's not quick enough to disarm him and he throws her off him with a quick spell.

Draco stands quickly and sees Harry lying motionlessly on the ground. He casts a _Petrificus_ _Totallus_ in Hermione's direction, but she deflects it. However, it's clear that she's tired and her magic almost completely drained, so he shoots a string of consecutive spells, and finally an _Expelliarmus_ hits her right on the chest. Her wand falls with a pathetic little thud a few feet behind her. Before she makes a run for it, he shoots another binding curse at her, and Hermione freezes.

"Fucking hell," Draco pants out as he runs a hand through his hair, catching a few droplets of sweat in his forehead. He looks around and doesn't appear to be surprised when he realises they're in the middle of nowhere.

Around him, the proud and tall elm trees and beeches stand in the way of the moonlight, so everything is pitch black.

He approaches Harry, Hermione's fearful eyes following him with helplessness, and Draco snorts at her grimace, frozen right when she was mid-sneer.

He squats down and quickly makes sure The Boy Who Lived hasn't lost his title. After checking for his pulse and seemingly satisfied, he stands up at once, making his way towards the immobile witch.

The wind is howling around him, and the temperature is far lower in the forest than in Godric's Hollow. Draco's hand is as white as an _Inferi_ 's when he uses it to turn Hermione's chin upwards to look at her.

"Long time no see, Granger" he drawls. It's clear in her eyes how badly she wants to spit in his face, and that seems to amuse the young man further. "I thought you were smarter than to curse the backup." Her brown eyes fill with suspicion, and her lip has moved upwards a little, maybe by sheer disgust, maybe the curse is already wearing off. Draco points his wand at her again and catches her eyes darting a quick look over his shoulder.

His whole body tenses in anticipation as he turns his head, but by then, Harry's already mouthing a curse, aiming his wand at him. Draco snickers, taking in the wand split in half, only a few threads of its core holding it together. He smiles with disdain but a burst of magic hits him in the chest all the same and he falls on his back, unconscious.

:::

Draco's mouth twitches as he slowly comes to his senses. He's lying down. Two quiet voices are bickering somewhere near him. His brow furrows, as if he were still drowsy, but trying to focus with every inch of his willpower.

"You knocked yourself out when you tried to curse him!" a feminine voice whispers angrily, "Honestly, Harry, I thought you would have learnt from what happened to Ron in second year."

Draco opens his eyes and the bright daylight makes him squint. He looks upward sleepily. The ceiling is creased, like a sheet. He shakes his head, blinks slowly to focus his eyes and looks around.

He is in a big tent which, most likely magically enlarged. There're some warming charms in place that prevent his fingers from freezing, but he can still see his breath floating in a pale cloud in front of him. From his position in the bed, he can see a table and a small kitchenette.

He doesn't even try to get hold of his wand, perhaps suspecting it will not be waiting by his bedside table. He does, however try to move his arms and he doesn't seem surprised when he finds he has been magically tied to the bed.

"He was pointing his wand at you, what else was I supposed to do?" the masculine voice replies, "I don't understand why you didn't leave him there and apparate us somewhere else."

A few feet away from him, Harry and Hermione are sitting on another bunkbed. Harry's cleaning his glasses with the rim of his jumper and seems to have just woken up. He has to bend down so his head doesn't bump against the upper bed.

Draco slowly moves his face towards them, trying to profit from the fact that they don't know he's awake and listening. Hermione is intently looking at her friend.

" _What?_ " the young man's voice sounds cautious, as if he didn't really want to know, and deeming his glasses clean enough, he slides them on.

Hermione sighs, then starts talking very fast, "At first, I thought I was going mad, but then I took it off him, just to make sure, and it's just weird, especially considering where I sent my _Patronus_ to."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" there's irritation in his voice, and Hermione, eyeing him cautiously, gives him a muggle coat that has been resting on her lap. The same one Draco was sporting before he blacked out.

Harry seems confused, and he arches his eyebrows looking at Hermione, as if asking her to explain further. She bends her head and lowers her voice.

"It's not a simple coat, Harry, look at the initials on the chest. I've checked, they've been magically sawn. We've seen someone else wear it before. Don't you remember?" A pause, as Harry analyses the coat closely, and then she continues quickly again. "And even if it was a coincidence, why would _he,_ of all people, wear anything muggle?"

Harry's hands turn into fists that grab at the sturdy material of the coat. It's an old military-looking jacket in a muted green. The initials _R.J.L._ are embroidered on the right pocket's flap.

"This is Sirius'?" Harry manages to choke out.

Hermione looks at Harry. She has an anguished look on her face when she nods.

"I think so. I saw him wearing it the summer before fifth year and he told me it used to be Lupin's. He won it from him in a game of Exploding Snap and kept it to piss his parents off," her voice is once again hurried, as if she were tearing off a plaster as quickly as possible to minimise the pain.

Harry's eyes dart to Draco's position and at seeing him awake, he makes an attempt to launch himself off the bed, a groan stuck in his throat. However, Hermione is ready for his reaction and a swish of her wand sends him back to bed. She then looks over her shoulder, and Draco makes to talk, but no sound escapes from his mouth.

With a face completely void of emotion, the bushy-haired witch points his wand at the Slytherin, who tugs at the invisible rope that straps him to the bed. A vein in his neck becomes swollen in a mute scream. His eyes, filled with rage, are locked on Hermione's but she merely mutters a curse and the last thing Draco sees is a blast of orange going towards him.

:::

The next time he wakes up the tent is pitch black except for a few jars scattered all around that contain little blue flames. It's colder than before and the tip of his ears have turned hot pink. The wind blows loudly outside, and from time to time, an owl hoots from afar.

Hermione Granger is sitting beside him, not even bothering to point her wand at him. A strict line creases up her forehead, and her expression is one of disapproval, the exact same one she used when someone asked for her homework at Hogwarts. It wasn't even anger or offence, just plain disgruntlement and disappointment, like she almost felt pity for whoever didn't take Transfigurations seriously enough to do their own assignments.

"Malfoy." His head shoots up towards the voice.

This time, he doesn't try to move or respond, but he looks at her closely. She must have recently come from outside, because her boots are wet with either snow or rain and her coat is zipped all the way up.

She's holding her beanie, which she probably just took off, in her left hand. A sudden noise makes her jump a little. Hermione's attention drifts from him to the tent's entrance. When nothing steps in, she appears to slump down in her seat.

Draco's eyes sweep his surroundings, perhaps looking for her raven-haired friend. When he ratifies there's none else in the tent, he shoots an inquisitive look at Hermione, both his eyebrows raised and almost completely hidden by his fringe.

She appears to be a tiny bit more anxious than a second before, but she keeps her emotions in check and clears her throat.

"You've been asleep," Draco makes to snort at the euphemism, as if he could still taste the _Sleeping Draught_ in his mouth, but he still can't make a sound, "For a whole day now. I didn't want you to see where we are or contact You-Know-Who and I couldn't have you talking either, in case you wanted to use the taboo name."

She finally takes her coat off and tugs at the sleeves of her purple jumper.

"But now I need you to speak." Her voice is clear and concise but there's hesitation in her eyes. She goes on in a low voice, delivering the facts without emotions as if she had repeated them in her head several times, "I'm armed, and you are not. Harry's got your wand, and I could send you back to sleep in a second. Please don't do anything stupid. I will _Confound_ you and we'll leave you here if you're not useful."

She looks him dead in the eyes and Draco refuses to be the first one to look away. She slowly raises her wand at him, and he's free instantly. He takes in a big gulp of air and brushes away a few annoying pieces of hair that were in his eyes the whole time. He makes a point to sit up excruciatingly slowly, as if mocking her. The hand pointing her wand at him remains still and steady, and she starts talking without preamble.

"You were wearing Sirius Black's jacket," she pauses, "yet you wouldn't even _touch_ something muggle," Draco's jaw line tenses. Hermione's eyes analyse her wand thoroughly, as if she had never seen it before. "So, either Mundungus Fletcher has been selling stuff that's not his again," she pauses, peeking through her eyelashes to spy his reaction, but he doesn't budge, "or Headquarters has been raided by Death Eaters," Draco remains completely still, as if he was still tied to the bed, "I also know that you appeared out of thin air after I had sent a _Patronus_ to Headquarters, which is a point in favour to the latter. However, you called yourself 'backup' and you didn't try to kill Harry after you had immobilized me."

Draco's mouth has slowly been curling up into a crooked grin, as if he had just thought of a funny joke, but he remains silent. Hermione seems to lose her patience, she waves her wand under his nose for encouragement, "Explain."

Draco's face falls at the order and then he sneers, but finally complies.

"I can't believe that you haven't figured it out," he gloats, seemingly enjoying himself as he starts massaging his numb hands and tapping his naked feet on the floor under Hermione's sharp supervision, "Wasn't it you who punched me in the face for _my_ prejudi–"

"Cut the crap, Malfoy."

He grinds his teeth to the point where his jaw bone is visible as he deadpans, " _I_ am part of the Order."

Hermione nods once, as if perhaps she had already contemplated that option, but then she lets out a high-pitched cackle. Her wand hand trembles with her shaking shoulders but she doesn't take her eyes off him.

"Why would the Order take _you_ in?" she spats viciously, and she has the same look in her eyes as Harry when he had looked at Draco.

The young man seems to be trying very hard to remain calm, but his nostrils flare every time he exhales. His whole expression changes all of a sudden, and he reciprocates her fake and patronising smile as he finally answers, "Weasel was a complete wreck last time I saw him. Lovers' quarrel, huh? Only, I'm trying to decide whether it was you or Scarface who refused to put out for him?"

Hermione's expression freezes. She gets up so violently that the stool she was sitting on falls to the ground causing a great ruckus.

Draco doesn't flinch and rolls his eyes at the wand that's now buried in his chest. Hermione draws it upwards to his neck and the wand scratches him and riles up his long-sleeved shirt so that his abdomen is exposed to the cold and soon goosebumps adorn the pale skin of his stomach.

He looks her straight in the eye and she seems out of sorts, out of breath and almost dizzy, a fearful tug to her mouth and hair as messy as ever. Draco smiles when he finds raw desperation in her eyes.

"So, it was you, then." His Adam's apple bobs against the tip of her wand when he talks, but he seems completely unbothered by it.

An owl hoots right above them and Hermione twitches, her grip on her wand loosening.

Draco tries to grab it, but the bushy-haired girl sinks her elbow in his stomach, making him groan. He pushes her away, and Hermione trips and holds on to the nearby bunk bed for support. Her eyes search the floor in panic and Draco realises she's not holding her wand anymore.

" _Acc_ –", she starts, but Draco's hand is on top of her mouth before she can finish the summoning spell.

Hermione bites his hand and kicks at his shins. He clutches her forearm, face coming inches from hers a she scratches at whatever she can reach and it's his neck and his cheek and jawline and it's all red, not quite bleeding but the marks are there. "Get a grip, Granger," he breathes out angrily, and in dodging the knee she's shot up towards his groin, their noses bump together, and his cheek hits her forehead. "For Merlin's sake, _Accio wand!"_ He adds through his teeth as he shoves her away, and Hermione's wands obediently flies towards him.

"I'm on your side, you fucking brat." He hands Hermione her wand, and the bushy-haired girl is stunned into silence, "You just don't want to listen. Do you want to know _why_ I was allowed in the Order?" he snarls, and then pauses, looking at her intensely, from one brown eye to the other, as if looking for differences between them, "I paid my way in."

She seems confused and betrayed for a brief second and then she realises what he means, and she looks at him in disbelief. Draco lets her go, pushing her away one last time. Her head hits the bunk bed behind her and she bites her lip so as to not complain. She silently summons her wand and it answers her call right away. She points it at him, but it shakes in her hand.

Draco doesn't back down. He keeps talking, and it seems that nothing will make him stop.

His words are woven to each other, like drops of water in a river, and it appears there's nothing he can do about it. It's out of his control and it's the first time he has told the story with words instead of it being pulled away by magic.

"My mother wanted me gone, said I was going to end up dead, like her cousin Regulus. During her wedding to my father, he got pissed and told her about some objects that the Dark Lord had, that made him almost invincible. He told her he knew where one of those tokens was, and he was about to destroy it. He said he just wanted someone to know because he wasn't sure he would make it out alive. My mother brushed him off but a few days later he was found dead," Draco looks away, "but after Bellatrix came back from Azkaban, she started to think he was telling the truth. Bellatrix gloated to her about how the Dark Lord favoured her and told my mother he had asked her to hide a very precious object in her vault at Gringotts. After I failed in to kill Dumbledore, my mother wanted our family to have some kind of leverage so she managed to get into her vault. She found Hufflepuff's cup, off all bloody things, and when things started to go south she gave it to me to use as a sfeguard. She refused to come along, said she couldn't leave my father behind. She swore to tell them it had been me, if just to dissuade me from ever coming back, and she's the best Legilimens I know. She told me to leave that same night, because they were getting ready to take down the Ministry and wouldn't notice my absence. I refused but she–," His voice falters and he falls silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. "Bellatrix found me at the gates of the manor, I guess she figured out I was about to desert and tried to stop me, but I managed to escape."

Around them, day is breaking, and the timid sunlight comes in through the tent material. The silence is absolute since even the wind seems to have stopped blowing to listen to him. There's a softness around them, like the serenity in the atmosphere after a huge storm.

Hermione lets her right arm fall, and the former enemies look at each other for a very long moment.

Suddenly, the protective spells around them waver, like a rock that falls on the surface of a lake and creates waves. She stands up, pointing her wand at the tent entrance. Draco, feeling it too, tenses.

A pair of male voices call out her name, and Ron and Harry enter the tent. The young witch stays still for a second, disbelief and shock widening her eyes and rounding her mouth. Her shoulders slump down, and she leans against one of the tent's sturdy poles. Her lips form a line so tight that the fact they're trembling is almost unnoticeable. Despite her efforts, a relieved sob escapes her.


	5. IV

_Happy holidays everyone!_

 _Kudos to my beta Lucy!_

* * *

 **IV**

 _16th May 1998_

According to the Daily Prophet he nicked on his short trip to Gringotts the day before, the terrorist cells formed by Death Eaters at large are just a leaderless group of madmen with scarce resources. Their attacks are nothing short of sloppy and unfocused, and since attacking wizards could risk their arrest, they have started to target solely the muggle population.

Draco is standing barefoot on his kitchen floor, his hands on the counter, resting all his weight on them as his eyes focus on the black ink. The tea he made a few minutes prior, forgotten by the sink. The steam lazily rising from the cup forms a small cloud of condensation. His eyes sweep over the article for the last time, then throws it carelessly against the small table to his right.

He doesn't seem too happy with the article and the way the wizarding media is downplaying the organized group of unscrupulous and loyal followers of the Dark Lord. All Skeeter has written is true. However, that doesn't mean that the terrorist groups are any less vicious. They're desperate, knowing they will either die in combat or be sentenced to the kiss, and that's what makes them dangerous: they have nothing to lose.

Draco turns around and leans on the counter as he opens the muggle newspaper. As an afterthought, he distractedly summons the cup of tea to his hands and sips while he reads.

The Guardian is as clueless as ever, coming up with ridiculous explanation after ridiculous explanation for the wave of break-ins and deaths, and especially for the weird green skulls painted in the sky.

Nobody ever sees or hears the sky-writing planes, which is extremely odd. The most plausible theory is that some kind of mafia is going around gassing or drugging entire families with undetectable substances, and then uses a small plane to quickly leave the characteristic mark above their house. The police have started to look for connections between the victims, and as a precaution they have closed every single service of sky-writing in London and its vicinities.

Draco lets out a quiet humourless laugh. Suddenly, he hears the main entrance open. He folds the newspaper and takes a sip of his tea before exiting the kitchen, wand at the ready.

He finds Hermione sitting on his couch, her spine painfully straight and what looks like a pile of parchment on her lap. She stands up when she sees him.

"I thought you were still asleep," she says. The day outside is so grey and bland that the pink of her cheeks seems to have a special glow that almost fills the whole room.

"And, what?" Draco replies. "You were going to wait for me to get up? Doesn't sound like you." He smirks, but as if that gesture were painful, his face goes back to being blank in a second.

Hermione ignores his comment, but the pink has disappeared, and now she's as grey as he is, as the world of tall buildings and stormy skies and the soft murmurs of pigeons by the windowsill. Draco's jaw clenches.

"I'm sorry to intrude, but– "

"Yet, here you are," Draco interrupts, and there's no real irritation in his voice, just exhaustion.

Hermione huffs. "Honestly, it's you who left a letter laying around with your new address. And you should at least alert the Ministry of your new residence," she clears her throat, then continues, "I gathered since it's a muggle neighbourhood you don't have permission for owl post, so…"

She reaches her hand out and offers him a handful of letters for him, sent to Grimmauld Place. His eyebrows knit together when he sees the Ministry wax stamp and his eyes darken when he turns over one of the envelopes to see the remittent: the Auror Department.

He looks up at her. She hasn't bothered to take her light jacket off and is still standing awkwardly in the middle of his living room. Now that she thinks he's distracted, she's looking around the room. Her whole body is tense and slightly aligned towards the main door, ready to leave at any moment, her hands are on her pockets, and her teeth bite down on her lower lip.

"What is this about?" he asks, not even entertaining the idea that Hermione might not know. The brunette shrugs her shoulders lightly.

"We've all got them", she replies simply, fiddling with a loose thread in her coat. She looks up at him then, defiant. "You must know, too." Draco makes an irritated face at her response, perhaps already guessing at what's in the envelope, and not even bothering to open it.

"Well, fuck me, Granger," and the spiteful word choice seems to catch them off guard for a split second. Draco frowns, and Hermione blushes and looks at her shoes. "You could have saved yourself the grief of coming here." His sombre gesture makes Hermione scowls, and she looks up. She makes to talk, the farewell forming words in her mouth, but the blond interrupts her, "Or was there something else you wanted to _discuss?"_

The whole room falls silent and stays immobile until Hermione flinches, as if he'd just insulted her. Their eyes meet and there's a kind of unspoken understanding in the way they look at each other. Draco's face is a perfect nonchalant mask, but she lets her emotions run free across her expression: hurt briefly, then shame, more lasting, then, finally, vehement and fierce pride.

Hermione makes for the door, muttering one excuse or another, not even putting any real effort in making it sound real. He barely hears her anyway, and there's a small distressing smile in his lips that doesn't reach his eyes.

 _27th December 1997_

Harry and Ron are pointing at Draco with their wands before the sword of Gryffindor makes a clunk when it hits the floor, having been dropped by the redhead. Harry looks at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes as Ron, seemingly irritated, picks up the relic from the floor, as if pondering whether to use it against the blond.

Draco merely yawns and is quick enough to avoid Harry's first spell. Hermione steps in and stands before her two friends, catching them up quickly. Ron begrudgingly confirms Draco's story, and the raven-haired boy huffs in disbelief and watches him from the corner of his eye while he changes out of his soaked clothes.

While Draco grits his teeth with impatience, and puts his socks and boots back on, Ron tells Hermione about his return. He whispers to her in a conspirational tone about Dumbledore's lighter and looks at her with complicity and desperation for forgiveness when he tells her about hearing her voice calling out to him. He goes on about the silver stag and the sword and saving Harry, and the locket.

Hermione's small fists are punching him repeatedly in the chest before he's even finished.

The bags under her eyes seems to have gone a couple of shades darker but her cheeks have turned red with rage, breath catching and eyes hard with resentment.

When he protests and tells her he has been looking for them for days, Hermione doesn't miss a beat, "We've been waiting for you for months," she replies, and the gloom and bitterness in her voice makes it clear that she's mostly referring to herself. There's barely time for Ron's hurt to spill out over his face, as Hermione is already approaching Harry. The redhead huffs and leaves the tent. Draco can hear his steps over damp, soggy leaves and snow as he paces outside. After a whispered discussion between Harry and Hermione, the young witch asks everyone to get out of the tent. Draco hisses when Harry aims his own wand at him on the way out.

The cold bites at their skin while they wait for Hermione to shrink the tent and put it in her dainty beaded bag. Then, Harry reaches out an arm that his two friends are quick to hold. As for Draco, he grabs it like a hawk grabs a mouse, and the raven-haired boy clenches his jaw but refuses to complain as he turns around in the spot, the other four following his lead, as he apparates them to Grimmauld Place.

Half a dozen of wands pointed at them welcomes them home. Draco rolls his eyes, as though bored with the procedure, and ignores them all in favour of summoning his wand off Harry's grip. His whole posture changes once he's recovered it, and his eyes seem to turn clearer, a crooked smile uncurling in his lips. Hermione gives him a look and Harry grunts in his general direction but Shacklebolt has started the systematic round of questions to confirm they're not impostors, so they keep quiet.

Suddenly, a swirling flash of red descends the stairs and captures Harry's attention completely. He doesn't seem to hear their voices or Alicia Spinet's threat to hex him if he doesn't reply to her question about his first year Quidditch trial. He stands there, fixated as a petite freckled girl elbows her way in the closed circle of wizards, "Gin?"

His voice sounds terribly small and affected, and it is suffocated the moment Ginny collides against him, almost causing him to topple over. Her bright auburn mane cascading over them and giving them a split second of intimacy as their lips meet in a kiss.

They don't allow Draco, or anyone else for that matter, in Lupin's office when the trio destroy the Horcrux but he, along with the rest of dwellers in the house, hears the piercing shriek that makes the wall tremble for exactly forty-two seconds, as the whistling kettle announces with exactitude. Afterwards, a complete, eerie silence descends on the house.

Draco spins his newly-recovered wand around his right hand's fingers, eyes glued to the ceiling of the living room, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

 _17th May 1998_

When on Tuesday morning Hermione sees him at the back of the auditorium in the Auror department (sadly all that room was not necessary at all, as only a handful of people occupy the three first rows of the auditorium-like room) she sighs, and her eyebrows rise quizzically.

Draco locks eyes with her and there's anger in them once again, perhaps misdirected, but that doesn't hold him back from clenching his jaw and taking his eyes off her, as if the mere sight of her bothered him. The meeting has just concluded, and everyone gets up, the folding chairs squeaking when someone stands and they return to their original position.

A flock of purple paper airplanes fly inside the moment someone opens the door, and they land on the table at the bottom of the auditorium from where Shacklebolt has given his speech.

Hermione seems to deliberately ignore Draco in favour of making a beeline for the door but in a couple of long strides, he's caught up with her.

The blond examines her from the corner of his eye. The bags under her eyes are worse than ever, worse than during the war, when she slept at least five or six hours a night, even if just from utter exhaustion. Now it looks like even her body has given up trying to keep her alive.

She flinches when he opens the lift's manual door. A couple of the attendees enter after them. They nod at the strange couple and start talking in low tones about getting a butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron. Draco and Hermione stay silent until the doors clinks open.

"You said everyone received these letters," Draco mutters while he follows Hermione on her way towards the Floo. The bushy-haired girl looks at him and raises an eyebrow at the statement. She nods, but she looks pained just locking eyes with him.

The Slytherin takes note of her reaction and bites the inside of his cheek, eyes hardening. "I think I got a special one, or else I'd feel inclined to ignore it, like almost everyone else did."

That seems to pique her interest, as she looks up at him and frowns. Her glassy eyes become more focused and she waits for him to elaborate.

"My letter contained an extra post scriptum. If I don't provide my services, they will hold onto my Gringotts vault and use them for war reparation or whatever," he responds to the unvoiced question.

"Huh," Hermione says. And the lack of a more expressive response seems to startle Draco. He stops in his track for a moment and then catches up to her, grabbing her arm with too much force. Her eyes are glassy again, but when he touches her, her brown eyes fire up as she abruptly shakes his grip off her with a snarl, as if challenging him to do it again.

He doesn't.

"No one in their right mind would do this, would go back to this voluntarily," he spits angrily through clenched teeth. "I, for all my cynicism, can't believe they've even asked. We fought in the actual war. For them. We gave them their victory. And now," and he searches for her eyes, but she's fixated on the wall behind him, "now they want us to keep fighting, as if they didn't already owe us their lives. They just want another headline for the press. 'The Boy Who Lived' helping to bring down the Death Eaters at large... It's a joke! For Merlin's sake! Not even Potter showed up today, and you know why Granger?" She remains quiet and he huffs, annoyed at her impassivity. "Hermione, you know why?" His voice is quieter now, but his words tremble slightly when they fall off his mouth. "It's because they're done with all of this, all of us are done. So my question is, what the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

Hermione looks at him then, her eyes as wide as an owl's, but her breathing's steady and slow.

"You keep fighting for all the wrong reasons," she barely whispers, but her words are drenched in poison. She takes a step forward and buries her index finger in his chest. "Every single time. You always have an agenda. This time is about money", she spits and the anger in her builds up and instils colours to her cheeks. "You're just a walking cliché, it's almost funny." But she doesn't laugh. She seems almost disappointed and her lower lip quivers when she finishes in a whisper, "You tick every bloody box."

"You have no idea," and there's danger in his voice now, and so much rage that it takes Hermione aback as she recoils.

Silence falls over them like an icy blanket, and they stay still for a very long time.

"I don't think I know how to exist without fighting anymore," she admits, trailing, once more, the complicated tiled pattern on the wall behind Draco. His gaze is so insistent, it seems to magnetically attract hers. She blinks slowly, and their eyes meet. "That's why I came. Wrong reason for me, too, I guess."

 _1st January 1998_

December ends in a blur, and all too soon New Year's Eve gives everyone the perfect excuse to change into their cleanest clothes and raid the Noble and Most Ancient Pantry of Black in search of every bottle, vial, and barrel of liquor.

Admittedly, Harry's return has lifted the spirits at Headquarters, and members of the Order have started to drop by the house consistently, just to shake his hand or tap him amicably on the back and remind him that he's "the life and soul of the Resistance."

It's the countdown to midnight when Draco and two more men arrive from a six-hour watch, after having been relieved by another team. The blond slowly walks down the hall, listening as a collective chant excitedly counts down to one, and chaotic screams of celebration, good wishes, and laughter spill over the old wooden flooring, crashing against his black boots like a small wave against a rocky cliff.

He doesn't realize he's stepping on invisible liquid happiness as he makes his way to the living room, steadily, almost dreading it. He rests his weight against the doorjamb and examines the scene. His eyelashes are white with tiny snowflakes from a timely storm and his hair is drenched and stuck to his forehead. A spell he has excelled at since his arrival at Grimmauld Place has kept his clothes dry but he looks otherwise dishevelled and ready to sleep for the next ten hours.

The room shines in golden light and warm colours from the burning fire. A faint smell of alcohol fills the air and a couple of enchanted trays with drinks float in between the guests. In the other corner of the room, by the hearth, Lee materializes a guitar, and when Molly Weasley sees it, she requests every Celestina Warbeck song she knows in one single breath. The young man laughs and nods his agreement. The glassy and bloodshot eyes and the sour smell around him hinting at the fact that there's a reason he and Charlie took so long in the bathroom.

Draco scowls and turns towards the staircase, a bizarre aura around him, a thoughtful pull to his mouth and a creased forehead. He's too busy brooding to see George fall off the couch he was slackly perched on, laughing and hugging his sides, eyes on a very drunk Oliver Wood who has just kissed Angelina Johnson under a branch of mistletoe. He's got a mortified stare on his face, and he's cupping his bright red left cheek imprinted with an open palm.

"That a girl!" George cheers Angelina on from the ground, his beverage now staining his shirt and the old Persian carpet.

As Molly and Vivian Gladstone struggle to hit the high notes in "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" Draco makes a pained face and turns again to leave, but Tonks grabs him by the arm, offering him a glass of Elf-produced wine.

"I'm precariously living through the lucky ones who can still drink," she sing-songs, patting her round belly, "so, honestly, you don't even get a choice."

The blond's eyes imperceptibly soften for a second as he accepts the glass. "I feel like I'm at a house party after winning a Quidditch match," he says, and Tonks hums happily.

"Everybody does," she laughingly responds. She becomes quiet, and after a while, she goes on. "Revisiting happier times is a good way to cope," she mutters, looking around her, and Draco follows her gaze. Fletcher is trying to convince Ron to play a game of chess with him while the redhead sulks, sitting on a big armchair that partially swallows him, face red and the pint glass in his hand overflowing with butterbeer. All he pays attention to is Fleur, in her dainty navy-blue dress as she and Bill dance to Lee's tunes. The grace in her every movement is hypnotizing as Bill steps on her, and trips when trying to twirl his wife around, whilst Fleur whines, "I lead, I lead!"

"The thing," Draco drawls darkly, looking back at his cousin, "is that we're not at Hogwarts anymore."

"Tell that to Harry, he snuck out some booze a while ago and is probably shagging his girlfriend somewhere." She snickers at Draco's affronted face.

A few meters away, an agitated voice catches their attention. Esther Caldwell, Fred Weasley and Hermione are debating about the Goblin Rebellions. The former Gryffindor is flustered as she waves her glass around, splashing everyone with fire whiskey and slurring her "s".

By then, Norah Smith has joined Lee with a fiddle, and the lively music draws a few more couples to the improvised dance floor. Tired of the conversation, Fred catches Hermione by the waist and twirls her, but she keeps shouting her arguments about battles and dates and victories over the redhead's shoulder to Esther.

"Where's Lupin anyway?" Draco asks, peeling his gaze away from them. There's intent behind his words, and he looks pensive.

"In his office, probably," she sighs, her face darkening. "There's always something that needs planning, or scheming. And Brent was the first casualty since Little Whinging, the first under his watch... He's really taken it to heart." She pauses abruptly and looks at him from the corner of her eye, cautious. "You knew about Brent, right?"

Draco nods, biting the inside of his cheeks. He heard about Brent's death right after he got back. Apparently, he and Jones were able to escape from Bagshot's house, but Brent had been hit by a curse from Dolohov and Jones couldn't heal him, nor could she take him to medical care in time.

"He wanted to cancel this, you know? Remus, I mean." She coughs a little. "Said there's nothing to celebrate." She looks bitter as she takes a lock of her hair between her fingers and frowns at it until it turns bright orange. "But I think we needed it, to forget about it all just for a few hours… Even if some of us would rather swap a party for six hours in the cold." She winks at him.

"Well, I didn't feel like getting drunk with a bunch of strangers when my mother's in the most dangerous place in Great Britain." The blond looks surprised at his own honesty, and sighs while he rubs his bloodshot eyes, as though mentally blaming it on his sleep deprivation.

Tonks tenses, and Draco sips on his wine.

"I hear you talked to Remus about that?"

The young man looks at her when he hears her aggravated tone, but Tonk's face is turned away from him and her pink hair covers her expression.

"I heard about the Lovegood girl and I thought it appropriate to tell him all prisoners are held at Mansion Manor, a place I know well. I thought he might make an exception for her..."

"Don't." There's bite to Tonks voice when she turns around abruptly, bubble gum bob flying around her head like a cloud. "Remus has been receiving letters from Xenophilus, and it's taking a toll on him. It's not safe to plan an incursion to Malfoy Manor, not even for our own people," she talks in a low voice, but there's fire in her eyes. "Shacklebolt is busy, so he's basically the one juggling everything and everyone, and he feels responsible for every single one of you. He's barely home, prefers to sleep in his office, and I have to constantly remind him that he needs to eat from time to time." She pauses, gaze lowering to Draco's shoes. "He's started keeping an eye on me, too, when the full moon approaches. He's convinced the mother to a werewolf child will show signs of the baby's _disease_ ," she spits the last word, disgusted with the term, "as if I was about to grow fangs and a tail... completely ridiculous!" She ends in a whisper, and huffs, looking up at him. "He's got enough on his plate already, so don't ask him to plan a suicidal mission, and don't act offended because he won't rescue your mother. _She_ chose to stay."

A slender young woman forces them to step away since they're blocking the room's entrance. Draco's lips are pointing down, as if his mouth was full of foul words that had a bitter taste on his tongue. However, he doesn't say anything for a while, but instead looks at the party in front of them. The team he joined for the stake-out is sitting in a small oval table, one of them is looking around the room moodily, then turns back to the table and talks quietly to the rest, who nod their heads approvingly.

"I didn't take Lupin for the type to break confidentiality," Draco says nonchalantly, looking away with a raised eyebrow and moving the glass in circles so the blood-like liquid splatters against the crystal.

"He's not," Tonks says, closing her arms with an arrogance that only shines through in very rare occasions. "Hermione heard you fighting when she went to talk to him, and then she told me."

"What did she want to see Lupin for? Her pillows need fluffing?" he asks with a snort. And as he talks, his eyes drift again over the oval table. One of the men has got up and it's walking towards Ron. His tense posture seems to threaten the redhead, because he gets up from his slouched position. They exchange some words, but they don't appear to be friendly. Ron is frowning and fumbling for his wand, but Charlie joins in the conversation and the other man backs down, and even smiles at the other Weasley. He makes to leave, and Charlie has to stop Ron from going after him.

Tonks gives him a look, oblivious to the strange situation unfolding behind her.

"No, she asked about joining the mission rotation." Draco gives her a questioning look. "Apparently they don't have any more leads on the horcruxes, so it seems they're going to stay for a while."

The Slytherin groans and Tonks elbows him in his ribs, smiling, and then continues, pensively, "Remus said no, of course. Hermione's too important."

"And the rest of us can be spared?" Draco asks, expression darkening and gaze landing on the oval table again, this time sparing them an appreciative glance.

Tonks sighs, and nods. "You, me, and basically everyone that's not Harry, Ron or Hermione."

Her sincere reply seems to take Draco aback. "So, you know you're probably going to die, but you haven't run away yet?"

"There are things worth fighting for," Tonks responds, her hands quickly flying to her belly.

The party has quieted down now, and there's only the soft murmur of low conversations, faint music from the guitar and the fiddle that have been charmed to keep on playing, while Lee and Norah sit by the fire, drinking from a big bottle of Fire Whiskey.

"Hufflepuff through and through, huh?" Draco says, looking at her from the rim of his glass as he downs the remains of the wine. "I've always thought Slytherins have the best surviving odds out of all the houses, but you'll be okay. You're half Black, after all."

Tonks smiles, "You're half Black, too, and Sirius was a Gryffindor." She raises her eyebrows, and her eyes turn pink to match her hair. When she sticks her tongue out at him, it's thrice the length of a normal one.


	6. V

_Thanks to Lucy for beta-ing!_

 _I hope you like it!_

* * *

 **V**

 _10th January_

A lot of things have changed since Draco first arrived at Grimmauld Place as a prisoner. The Order had been up and running well before that, and he's likely to know this, but the fall of the Ministry provoked an upgrade in security with the creation of portkeys to Headquarters. Because only a few were Secret Keepers, personal invitation from an older and more trustworthy member was the only way to attend meetings, and a hierarchy was slowly but surely put into place.

In the beginning everything was decided democratically, but soon enough, it became clear that people who didn't see the whole picture, who didn't have all the pieces of information, couldn't vote on important matters. That was how the few who had worked closely with Dumbledore became the ruling party. At first, it had brought on conflict and protests but once William Flanagan had lost a leg after a poorly-organized mission, it became clear that the kind of responsibility that came with being in charge was a heavy load almost none was willing to take on.

A similar metamorphosis in the inner mechanics of the Order is prompted by Harry's return. Initially it's all about hope and newfound strength and courage by the resurfacing of a hero that, until then, some believed had ran away. However, in a week's time the general discontent is painfully clear.

After all the decorations are taken away and business as usual resumes, there's a change in the cadence of life at Headquarters. Whilst team after team of increasingly displeased Order members go on patrols, stake-outs, and meetings, Harry Potter and his sidekicks remain in the house.

Instances of fights and duels between them or of them against the rest are brought up to Lupin every other day.

Ron parades around in his pyjamas at noon and picks fights with anyone that so much as looks at him the wrong way. He huffs at Harry, spits poisoned words at Hermione and slams the door every time he leaves a room.

Harry is constantly seen sulking, his face all sharp angles and the glimmer in his eyes gone, packed away in Ginny's trunk when she left for Hogwarts. His head is usually buried in a children's book and in his hand there's always a golden snitch. He caresses it, sometimes letting it lazily expand its dragonfly wings and bat them for few seconds in front of his glasses before catching it again, the delicate wings crumpling under his harsh touch and gripping fingers. He's usually alienated from the real world, so he barely hears people's insults at first, but reverts to hexing anyone that won't let him alone with the wand he's been recently given, which belonged to the late Hugo Brent.

As for Hermione, she seems to fight with her two friends the most, and usually locks herself in Lupin's office for hours on end, the _Muffliato_ she casts on the door preventing anyone from hearing what they talk about. Now that she's not up against the cold that slips through the tent's material, she wears lighter clothes that make evident how skinny she really is.

As usual, Draco observes from the metaphorical corner as the disappointment and anger of the Order brews into a possible mutiny. He never joins in on the imprecations and protests but his status, despite his blond hair and surname, improves in the following week. He becomes one of _us_ with the early-morning wake up calls and muddy boots, whilst the Golden Trio turns into _them_ with the sulky looks and locked up bedrooms.

They're refused any active position on the field because they have a greater task to accomplish. That is what Lupin says, but his vague, empty claims and denials to give any more information about this transcendental mission, are always followed by frowns and angry whispers.

In order to keep the fragile peace on top of which the whole organization trembles, a number of teams are transferred to different Safe Houses. Draco and the rest of his team, which is composed of unwaveringly loyal Gryffindors, stay at Headquarters, but even they have started to complain about preferential treatment.

Teams are not completely strict. In the case of Draco's, Bill Weasley always changes to his wife's when she's on call, and Sturgis Podmore is usually quite busy at his post in the Ministry to make it to every single one of the patrols, so it's not the very first time someone from a different team has joined them to cover a gap in their formation.

Nevertheless, it is encouraged that teams remain as unchanged as possible for several security reasons. One is more likely to come back from a mission alive and with all limbs attached if the team works well together, not to talk about reporting any strange behaviour or change in demeanour of any of the team members.

It's taken Draco a while, but he knows how every one of his teammates thinks and acts. Wood and him particularly dislike each other and will avoid the other's presence when at Headquarters, but once they apparate or porkey to the assigned location they get on like a house on fire. It's been months since Oliver has "accidentally" sent a hex his way.

That evening, Vivian Gladstone and Sturgis Podmore, the oldest members in the team and with a background in the Auror Department and the Department of Mysteries respectively, go over Lupin's orders for the last time. They're usually in charge, but Oliver is stubborn and a great strategist, so he always manages to mould plans and schemes to his liking.

"Remember: an informant isn't the most trustworthy source," Gladstone looks around the room, pausing for a second on every stern face looking at her. "Even if they're right, plans might change, especially when it involves Snatchers."

Sturgis, a few feet away from her and resting his backside on a table, folds his arms, the wand in his left hand tapping nervously against his right shoulder when he asks, "Bill, anything to report?"

The eldest Weasley sibling shakes his head and Podmore nods in satisfaction. Bill's the one responsible for the logistics and is in charge of going over maps, even though he prefers to apparate to the location beforehand to check the surroundings. If a member of the team is injured, he is to take them to safety, as he is the only member in the team with a portkey for Headquarters. He is forbidden from telling anyone what form the tiny portkey takes and has been asked to destroy it if he's ever at risk of being caught.

At the end of a successful job, the rest of the members will gather to apparate to Grimmauld Place. In the improbable case the rest of the team can't get to him in time, they are to shelter at the designated emergency safe house and await orders.

"We've been tipped off about the location of a bunch of Snatchers." Vivian goes on, as though she hadn't been interrupted. "They've been combing through the countryside for muggle-born fugitives and have camped out for a few days in the same spot." She pushes back a lock of dirty blond hair. "Our goal is to find that group of fugitives. Don't take the Snatchers down before we learn what they know about their whereabouts, and for the love of Merlin, Wood, stay in position. We already know how brave you are. I won't be as permissive as Sturgis, and if you keep up your reckless act I will have Lupin cut you off rotation." Oliver furrows his brow in utter confusion, as though he has no clue what she's talking about, but he gives her an unconvincing thumbs up.

Whilst one of the oldest members of the team will usually take the lead in any given offensive tactic, the other is to stay at Headquarters and send for backup if the team has not checked in at the stipulated time frame.

Oliver, Draco, and Wendy Keen are to support the mission leader and engage in duel if necessary. The two men are also responsible for any possible prisoner, and since Brent's demise, who was a retired mediwizard, Wendy is in charge of taking any injured member to Bill and making sure to patch them up so that they resist the portkey journey. She'd just graduated from Hogwarts three years prior with a brilliant future ahead of her. However, her plans of pursuing a career in the Wizengamot came to a halt after she was fired from her underpaid pen pusher job due to her loyalties when the Death Eaters took the Ministry. She's not well-versed in healing but resources are short, and Draco and Oliver are better duellists than she is.

"Alright," Podmore rests his wand under his right ear and claps his callous hands, "I will sound the alarm at two in the morning sharp. That gives you five hours to get back or send word you're going to be late." He looks around the room and signs for everyone to gather around the desk he's sitting at.

Vivian checks the clock on the wall behind her, hands stretched and millimetres apart from touching the book. "Be smart," she says gravely, "and keep an eye out for your teammates. They might become your saving grace."

The door to the small meeting room flies open, and six pairs of eyes turn to look at a breathless Hermione. She takes in the scene in front of her, nose flying to the air as she squeals, "I see you haven't been informed."

Podmore frowns. "I beg your pardon, Miss Granger?"

"Lupin has approved me to join your team in this mission," she says snottily, and her cheeks turn red. Oliver snickers at the astonished look that Podmore and Gladstone share and Wendy nudges at his side to keep him quiet.

Draco looks at her intently and takes in her winter coat and her hair braided tightly and away from her face. He frowns and drawls, "And wherever are your two bodyguards?"

The young witch glares at him, and even though Vivian has already started talking to her, bright green eyeshadow glinting in the light when she bobs her head in confusion, Hermione makes sure to shot him an irritated look, a displeased tug to her mouth. "They're not my bodyguards."

"Lupin hasn't told us anything about any changes, Granger. I'm afraid without official clearance **—** "

"I've been filled in on the job," Hermione interrupts. "I believe that portkey has been activated two minutes ago and will expire in the next 90 seconds." She clears her throat, nose still pointing at the ceiling, cheeks still red and words pushing through gritted teeth. "I know it's short notice and we've skipped the red tape, but you can trust me when I say I would never _lie_ about something like this."

Bill's eyebrows raise. Gladstone and Podmore look at each other for an instant and the latter shakes his head in defeat.

"Perhaps, we should just send a Patronus to Remus…" Podmore suggests with a dubious tone.

Gladstone clicks her tongue, and never taking her eyes off Hermione, she responds to her colleague, "It's the full moon today, Sturgis." She looks Hermione up and down and signals her to approach. "You stay with Bill and do as he says." She turns around to look at the redhead and gives him a pointed look. "You don't let her out of your sight."

Bill nods his head and gives Hermione a grave, reproachful look that Draco doesn't miss. The brunette ducks her head to avoid his stare.

"Hands on the portkey," Vivian urges, and as their fingertips brush the book on his desk, the seemingly lifeless item sucks them whole and the warm room spins and fades into a whirlwind of colours, vanishing in front of their eyes to be replaced by the hillside of a cold and wet mountain.

The night is clear, and the big white moon seems to loom over them as though warning them of an imminent danger. Not a breeze of wind blows, and the still atmosphere magnifies the static electricity around them, provoking their body hair to stand on edge despite the warming spells.

Bill gazes upwards brusquely, looking up almost in reverence at the silver light that washes over him, accentuating the deep scar that runs along his cheekbone and over his nose.

"Take your positions. Remember the orders, stick to your roles. The whole team depends on you." Those are the last words Draco can hear from Vivian. Her pep talks about unity and teamwork are all just copied off the Aurors' alliance encouragement crap.

As he follows Vivian and Wendy into the pine forest, Draco catches a glimpse of a pale freckled hand closing over Hermione's coat like a claw, and Bill is dragging her away. The blond scoffs and turns his head, focusing on the thud of every one of Vivian's long strides. A few paces behind him, Wendy wields her wand in front of her face, as if prepared for a formal duel.

They comb the forest for what seems to be hours, not once stumbling upon the fugitives or the Snatchers. The ground is wet and the leaves that cover it soggy, so their advance is reasonably quiet. There's no sign for help from the other team either, so they bundle up into their capes and coats and look out for friends and foes alike with their noses turning red from the cold and their muscles twinging in anticipation.

At one point, Vivian stops in her tracks, looking around her, trying to make out a possible human figure in the murky shadows and mixed up colours and textures in between the pine trees. But after a long minute waiting and listening, they resume their wandering.

Finally, the first curse comes, breaking the windless cold air with a whistling noise like an arrow. It's ill-aimed and it barely grazes Wendy's knee. When Draco turns his head and looks towards its source, he's expecting to see hooded figures with bone-white masks, but he finds a pair of kids that can't be older than fifteen, and an old man.

They are far enough from them than, rather than hearing them cry out spells, Draco sees their breaths forming silver clouds of condensation when they pronounce the incantations.

None of them are properly dressed for the cold, and it's obvious the children don't have much experience in duels, their magic too juvenile and shaky with fear and lack of control. In a blink of an eye, Vivian's got them paralysed and Wendy picks up the three wands Draco's _Expelliarmus_ has sent flying from their freezing hands.

While the assigned medic takes her wand and circles it around their heads, looking for injures, Vivian tries to talk to them, and Draco keeps guard, his blond hair, turned white by the moon gleam, doesn't quite cover his frown as he looks around. His shoulders are tense and his look hard, as if there was something not quite right yet.

"I don't understand why they let the children use magic," says Wendy as she approaches Draco after deeming the three muggle-borns healthy and casting a warming charm over them. "They still have the Trace and could be risking the Ministry finding their whereabouts, unless it's not their wands…"

Draco hums and clicks his tongue as a response, his head flying towards the east in a sudden movement. "Did you hear that?" he asks his colleague.

But before Wendy can answer, their attention is drawn to the old man, who is now able to talk and musters, in a pathetic and incoherent babble: "S-sorry… they found us and… they said they'd let us go… if we held you back..."

Vivian looks back at them, face aghast and ivory white. She straightens her back and mutters an incantation she showed them months ago, thanks to which their wands are linked to one another and can show them the way to the rest of the team in case of emergency. Without a word, Wendy stays back with the three muggle-borns, following Draco and Vivian from a safe distance, encouraging the trembling fugitives to go on as quietly as possible.

The former Auror grunts and curses under her breath, but Draco's face stays immobile and he looks almost relieved that he's found a cause to the prickling sensation of imminent danger in the back of his mind. He looks focused yet irritated when his footsteps sink a centimetre in the mud as he runs, guided by Vivian's glowing wand. Their pace is so fast that they can't always avoid running into trees and stumbling over roots and ferns. They try to be as quiet as possible and their breaths escape in ragged puffs of air that sound almost pained from confining them to their heaving chests.

As Oliver's voice slides through slippery leaves and coarse tree trunks towards them, Draco and Vivian slow down. They've lost sight of Wendy now but neither of them looks back.

Soon other voices join Oliver's and they can make out Hermione's high-pitched tone casting a curse. They're at the bottom of a slope. Vivian and Draco crouch down and watch the fight between Snatchers and their teammates for a second.

Vivian inhales sharply when she sees there are at least, eight bounty hunters, against three Order members. Wendy arrives and bend down beside them, signalling the three fugitives to imitate her.

Their odds are not good, and the only reason Bill, Oliver, and Hermione haven't disappeared yet is that Lupin must have been right about the Anti-Disapparition Charm. It is a new strategy taken on recently by Snatchers when they suspect a group of fugitives are in a certain area. The charm does not affect portkeys, so they can come and go as they wish but trap the fugitives, who have to physically walk out of the jinx's range if they want any shot at escaping.

Draco shoots a vehement look towards Vivian, impatiently awaiting instructions. There are only two possible options. Either they all go down there and gather around Bill to take the portkey back to Headquarters with the fugitives, or they try to take down the disapparition jinx. But if they can't, Bill and the rest will have to climb back the slope to portkey back to Headquarters.

"Okay, you three," Vivian finally bursts, looking at the two young teenagers and the old man, "you stay put and behind us at all times. Do not engage in the fighting unless you need to. We will cover you."

Then she shots Draco and Wendy a look, eyebrow raised, almost as if saying "Don't fuck up" or any other swear-filled, useless encouragement that she usually sends their way.

Wendy starts skidding down the hillside, wand already shooting jinxes and spells before her feet touch the bottom of the slope, Draco follows her, and, their presences made known, the Snatchers turn to face them. Angry faces and scars greet him, the number of an Azkaban cell still tattooed in some of the bounty hunters' necks.

The Snatchers are not the very best duellists, but they fight dirty with morally questionable curses that Draco knows like the back of his hand but isn't allowed to use. Gritting his teeth, he advances slowly while Vivian and Wendy fight in tandem, the fugitives behind them. Draco strays away from their formation to stand a little further ahead of them. After disarming one of the Dark Lord allies, he's able to advance a few feet towards Oliver, who screams to the top of his lungs the incantations he shoots at his enemies, as if his voice would give more power to his spells. The goal is to get to Bill and Hermione, who are cornered and targeted by the bigger part of the congregation. Vivian swears, as she realises they must have recognised Hermione from all the posters in the Ministry.

A surprised scream makes Draco look over his shoulder, but Wendy is already being helped up to her feet by Vivian who is now casting a protective spell over them and the muggle-borns in tow, single-handedly holding the ward with the ferocity of a lioness. A few feet away from them, Oliver lets out a scream, his free hand covering his right shoulder. A few strands of blue smoke come out from in between his fingers.

Draco keeps advancing and takes out two more wizards with a _Stupefy_ followed by an _Expelliarmus._ The two wands fly to his hand after he summons them and he's quick to break them in half with another spell. When he gets to Oliver he grabs him by his cloak and forces him to stand.

"I don't need a nanny, Malfoy." As if to emphasize his point, he sends an especially ruthless spell that sweeps a nearby Snatcher off his feet.

The wind is picking up, perhaps so much magic having altered the weather and Vivian urges them to keep going. Bill and Hermione are trying to angle their movements towards the rest of the group but aren't able to, given that they are completely surrounded. Draco spares a look their way but his attention snaps back to his surroundings when someone calls his name. One of the Snatchers is intently looking at him and then he shouts again, "Yes, it _is_ Draco Malfoy, that miserable sod!" Draco sends a couple of curses his way and his eyes turn darker. But his opponent diverts them.

"Your father's offering a great bounty for you, boy," he laughs, and his voice sounds like a hyena crossed with a parrot.

His wry, high-pitched voice causes Draco to screw up his pointy nose in disgust. He wields his wand like a sword as he shoots a rain of curses his way. The blond strays away from the group, angling towards the big-mouthed wizard. He chooses to ignore Vivian's angry voice as he walks over the Snatcher and away from Bill.

As Draco approaches him, he drinks up his features. Greasy hair and big fat face with minuscule eyes. He also has a cell number on the side of his trachea, which suggests he's been set free or escaped from Azkaban before serving his time.

"Word has it that he wants to give you up so Voldemort can kill you, like a present, you see? The Malfoy family has fallen from grace, so Gods know Lucius needs—" Draco shuts him up with a last curse that reeks of rotten egg and black magic, and as the body falls down, unconscious, he fills his nostrils with that smell, seemingly satisfied, canines on display by his grimace and hands trembling with rage.

He's quick on his feet, diverting a red beam of magic coming his way. The group has finally gathered around Bill, and Wendy's shouting at him to get to them. The redhead is reaching inside his coat's pocket, and Draco starts running. Bill takes out a small object covered by a cotton handkerchief, as though not to touch it by accident and opens his palm towards the centre of the group.

Draco slides towards them and arrives right before Vivian and Oliver raise a wall of protection around them. Bill is counting down from five when one of the Snatchers cuts a breach in the shield of magic and grabs Hermione by the arm. Oliver has collapsed due to his wound, and Wendy is trying to hold up his body while she joins Vivian's efforts in conjuring a ward, Bill has paused the countdown to urge the scared fugitives to touch the small object in his hand when he says so, and so Draco is the only one that realizes Hermione's being dragged away.

"Five, four," resumes Bills, looking intently at the portkey on his palm.

Hermione can't free herself. The Snatcher is holding up her wand hand, preventing her from casting a spell. She seems to have gone mute, real fear in her eyes, as if part of her knew she wasn't going to get away this time. In midst of the chaos, Draco's eyes lock with hers, and he takes in the frantic, helpless expression on her face. His hand is reaching towards the portkey already and he looks away from her, and towards the rest of the Order, partially turning his back to his former classmate.

Hermione is the only witness to his decision and when his shoulders face away from her, she shakes her arm to get away from the Snatcher, as if realizing she's on her own now.

Time seems to stop when Bill goes on to say, "Three…"

Several hands hover over the small object in anticipation. Wendy holds Oliver's large hand up in hers, as he's still passed out and whose head hangs slackly over Wendy's elbow. Blue smoke keeps coming out from a cut on his upper arm and twirling in the still air.

Draco looks over his shoulder and back at the portkey. His mouth tightens and his jaw clenches visibly. He mouths a curse and his wand cuts Vivian's protective spell in half to launch himself towards Hermione. In an instant, he disarms the Snatcher that's dragging her away and when she's free, she shoots an immobilising jinx against the bounty hunter. Draco takes her arm and yanks at it, pulling her towards him.

When Bill gets to "one", and the tip of everyone's fingers make contact with the portkey, Draco's eyes widen. He feels like he's touching fog but nothing else is there. At the last instant, a hand, the small fat fingers indicate it's Vivian's, takes his and places it over the rest so that an inch of his palm touches the enchanted object. Magic wraps around them and waggles them violently. Bodies crash together, and muffled moans reverberate in the black empty space.

Hermione, whose hand did not arrive in time to touch the portkey glides away from Draco's hold. Her fingers become ethereal, and he screams in the effort to grab her barely corporeal hand. It feels like he's underwater. His voice sounds far away and strangled, but suddenly her other hand grabs at his coat, her small fingers clutching desperately at the material and one second later she and Draco, along with the rest of the party, find themselves thrown away against the floor, walls and furniture of the living room at Headquarters.

:::

"You lied to everyone, Hermione," Lupin repeats once more, and the rage in his voice has turned to exhaustion over the long meeting. The bags under his eyes are a new shade between purple and grey that hasn't been named yet. Every small movement seems to pain him. His face is gaunt, and even though it should be impossible, he seems to have lost a substantial amount of weight overnight. He's functioning on couple hours of sleep tops, if any at all, but his rage makes up for his Inferi-like appearance.

After it's made known that Hermione learnt about the mission through stolen documents from Lupin's office and chose the only night she knew her former professor would be indisposed to carry out her plan, they are all appointed to Lupin's office, where they have been confined to the old and uncomfortable armchairs for almost two hours.

First comes a brief overview of the mission and Lupin makes a point to remark on the fact that Hermione's presence, according to the muggle-born fugitives, has provoked an unnecessary hazard by turning herself into a target and turning her teammates into her escort.

Then her teammates report on her actions during the mission. Bill, seemingly mad at her for lying, is particularly harsh, commenting on her great duelling skills but mentioning she had assured them she knew the protocol and she had only been privy to a vague outline of the mission which meant she was clumsy and out of sync with the rest of the team.

Vivian admits to having guessed Hermione had been lying from the very beginning, but as she puts it: "We're not babysitters Remus, and the girl is of age." She turns to Hermione, a raised eyebrow and a displeased tug to her mouth, "What you did was stupid and irresponsible, and lying to your superiors on such an important matter could very well kick you out of rotation." She looks back at Remus from under her eyelashes. "But we're short of active members and you're a decent aim."

Since Oliver's still been cared for due to his wound by Wendy, there's only Draco left to give his opinion. He doesn't stand up like the rest of them did. He's sitting, legs slightly too stretched out and his back slouched against the armchair. And yet he looks sumptuous in the dim light of the fireplace, the delicate way in which he crosses his arms over his chest almost regal.

It might be in his gene pool or the result of his upbringing, or perhaps simply the knowledge that he is, for the first time in quite a long while, in a position of power. His comment is short and harsh, but it doesn't sound quite like Bill's, which was imbued in masked concern and affection. "She was a burden to the team and it's _obvious_ whatever skills she might have had in combat, she's completely lost after those months living like a..." he screws up his nose, a glint of humour in his eyes that look a bit too much like third-year Draco, "pack of squirrels."

Hermione isn't allowed to defend herself or talk at all during this first half of the meeting. She merely squirms in her chair, biting her lips shut and eyes casted downwards while listening to Lupin and Vivian's words. But she ignores Draco with disdain, and instead looks directly into the fire, so its warm light disguises the embarrassment that paints her cheeks.

Lupin lets out a sigh and sits very carefully at his desk. His hands massage the interior of his wrists with his thumbs as he asks, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

And Hermione, with tired eyes and cheeks blushed angry red, dares to hold Lupin's painfully disappointed gaze. She takes in a gulp of air, as if preparing for a two-parchment-roll speech and simply states, "I'd do it again."

Remus' traits turn wolfish as he sneers angrily. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the full moon's influence on him and stands up, hands on his desk supporting all of his weight, dishevelled hair and head bowed so none can see his expression. He sounds calm when he asks everyone to leave.

A low, dry growl follows the team outside. "Hermione will join the rotation under Gladstone and Podmore's orders." And right before a spell closes the door after Draco, "Don't make me regret it."


	7. VI

_Long time no see! Sorry about the erratic posting, life is very busy rn and I'm a huge procastinator so not a good combo...Thanks for the comments aaand_ _I hope you like this one!_

 _A big thanks to Lucy for making this readable!_

* * *

 **VI**

 _22nd January_

"Can you slurp any louder?" Draco hisses as he shoots Harry a surly look.

It's very early in the morning, the sun having yet to make an appearance through the smudged windows over the sink, and the two boys are alone in the kitchen.

Harry seems to not have gone to bed yet, if the bags under his eyes and his somnolent demeanour are anything to go by. As for Draco, he's up early after rolling around in his bed for the better part of the last hour. He's been having nightmares almost every night since they came back from the Snatchers mission.

Harry was in the kitchen first but hadn't said a word when an unsuspecting Draco walked in the dark room and started making himself a cup of tea. The raven-haired boy was perhaps too drowsy to get himself to announce his presence, too lost in his own musings to realise his arrival, or merely curious at the rare sight of a vulnerable Draco.

When the blond had turned around, looking to sit at the long kitchen table, he had seen Harry for the first time, and had stopped in his tracks.

The two boys had sized each other up for what felt like an entire minute. Draco's mind seemed to be racing with thoughts that could be read in the curve of his furrowed brow and in the twitch of his jaw. Harry, understanding his predicament, had stretched out his legs, propping them up on the bench on the other side of the table, so as to prevent Draco from sitting across from him.

The blond had resolutely ignored the other man's subtle suggestion to find someplace else and, refusing to give up the kitchen, had sat on the end of the dining table, the farthest seat from Harry. The two young men had proceeded to pretend they were alone. So much so, that Harry makes a point to pretend not having heard Draco's rhetorical question and first attempt at conversation, in favour of slurping on his second cup of tea.

Draco grinds his teeth in irritation. There's no bread left for toast so he has to settle for slightly stale crackers and jam, and he also has to put up with Harry. Without the other houses' tables and hundreds of students serving as a barrier between them, Draco has learnt that Harry folds over the newspaper to read it more comfortably and doesn't even flinch when his cup of tea leaves a perfect round mark on one of the pages. To the blond man's horror, he also squeezes a dollop of honey in his tea despite having added sugar. Draco scrunches up his nose in disgust and focuses his attention on the orange light that fills the room announcing the start of the day.

Above them, the creaking floor confirms the awakening of the house and its inhabitants, who slowly but surely start to make their way down for breakfast. Draco, having finished his crackers and therefore seeing no reason why he should witness Harry's love affair with the honey bottle any longer, stands up to leave. He cheeks the time on the clock behind him and makes for a hasty exit, but Harry's raspy voice stops him at the door.

"How's Hermione doing?"

Draco looks at him over his shoulder, but the raven-haired boy is stubbornly fixed on the patterns engraved by time and use in the wooden table. It's impossible to overlook the hesitation in his words and the embarrassment in his reddening cheeks. The blond seems annoyed, perhaps because everything seems to revolve around the trio since their return.

After they learnt about Hermione's sly scheme, her two friends have been up in arms against her. Ron's mad at her for abandoning them and not telling them about her plan, whilst Harry seems to be bitter at the fact that he's still categorically banned from rotation and practically on lockdown.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" comes Draco's slow, perfectly-enunciated response, no anger in his voice, just outright scorn. His disdain doesn't faze Harry, who looks at him now, a shadow of a grin tugging at the left corner of his mouth, as if there was a joke somewhere in his former classmate's words that he'd just figured out. Harry hangs his head again without further comment and Draco leaves the kitchen without preamble.

The sun, which hasn't been able to pierce through the heavy grey shield of clouds in weeks, now bathes the lobby in warm, soft light. Catching a glimpse of the outside world while he passes by a window, Draco closes his eyes briefly and breathes once with dread, as he starts climbing the stairs. A tray with a teapot filled to the brim and a tower of teacups precariously wobbling on top of it almost beheads Draco when it darts past him, seemingly in a hurry to get upstairs.

For the last two weeks they have been assigned only "house-elf chores", as Oliver, arm on a sling but still as eager as anyone else to get back on the field, has deemed fit to name them. He's too irked to notice Hermione's rictus every time she hears the term but, in any case, he's right. For whatever reason, may it be that he's still holding a grudge over them or he's too scared to send Hermione on an even remotely risky mission, Lupin has been sending Vivian's team on easy and boring stakeout missions or trips to the muggle supermarket a few blocks away.

Orange juice is a very poor alternative to pumpkin juice, and chocolate just tastes better after chasing it around in the form of an amphibian, but Diagon Alley, a lacklustre ghost of what it used to be, has become a mere extension of Knocturn Alley. With only a few brave shop owners and a handful of Death Eater allies willing to open their doors to a quickly-decreasing clientele, it's safe to say that the trading hub of the wizarding world has seen better days. The implementation of a ration stamps system for potion ingredients, as well as exorbitant taxes on wands and books have motivated most wizards to turn to sleazy underground markets and dubious suppliers.

At arriving at Lupin's office a few minutes later, Draco sees the floating tray, now sadly immobile and devoid of magic, placed on the wide windowsill as there isn't an inch of space on the desk. Draco takes the last spot at the back of the room, reciprocating a greeting from Vivian. Lupin flicks his wand distractedly towards the door to shut it and takes a sip of his tea, waiting for everyone to settle down.

The mane of bushy brown hair seated right by Lupin's table seems to straighten up when Lupin coughs to draw everyone's attention, and Draco's eyes go glassy for a split second, as if a déjà-vu had transported him to an easier, lighter time, where Hermione always sat at the very front of the classroom, her attention never leaving the professor. He shakes his head once, and he looks up to Lupin, who has begun speaking."There's a group of Death Eaters west of Kent that's smuggling wizards, witches and magical beings to and from France." Oliver can barely contain his excited gasp, and Lupin makes a pause to send a disapproving look his way, "We believe they're recruiting allies all over Europe and Western Asia and sneaking them in. I'm assigning you, and two other teams to this mission. We've already started gathering…"

Draco seems to space out, ignoring the buzzing around him. It's not only Oliver anymore, but also Vivian with a curling smile plastered all over her face and Podmore with his chest puffed out and Wendy, spinning her wand between her fingers with a determined look. The former Hogwarts professor stops short. He's never been one to lose his temper easily, but trying times and a baby on the way have made him more strict, more afraid.

He's about to start lecturing them, as he has done before, about how this is not a game and they cannot get excited about war as they would about the Quidditch Semi Finals. But truth is, he's seen another war, and the better part of this one, and so he must know that gleam in their eyes, he must know it because he's felt like this before. Despite the guilt drawn on the lines of his forehead, he knows they need it. They need the high spirits of youth and the unconquerable fire that fuels them on, to the end of the world, to the end of hell and back if that's what it takes. He must know, too, from experience, that the gleam is gone in nights when the insomnia kicks in or in the mornings after a casualty, when they cry not over their dead partner, but over the uncertainty of who will be next.

Lupin knows they need it, and hopes it'll be enough, and so he inhales sharply and tells them about the other two sections they'll be teaming up with

:::

The new job gives them something to occupy themselves with, and routine slips back in and wraps around them like an old, comfortable blanket.

Working with the other two teams proves difficult at times, since Vivian butts heads with the other leaders constantly. Even though most of them benefit from socializing outside of Grimmauld Place, the days are long, and the temperatures are always below freezing. Patrols are usually at least eight hours long, and food is cold by the time someone gets it to them no matter how many warming spells. The wind blows without pause and such force that it's almost as if invisible pebbles were hitting their faces non-stop. When they finally return to Headquarters, their lips are chapped and split beyond repair and their hair is tangled with salt.

The smugglers move locations regularly, but they only have secured a handful of spots and they alternate between them. Eventually, the Order finds them. Their larger numbers and the roaring sea over the cliffs make for a magnetic atmosphere the night they strike. The three teams lurk towards the Death Eaters and circle them, victory already ringing in their ears, and the dark, moonless night as their sworn ally. When the signal is given, a myriad of flashes plough through the air like a firework show. Magic cuts through the hissing whirlwind and Draco groans with the first spell he shoots. It's been a while since he was in battle and there's yearning in his eyes for violence and retaliation. The power boiling in his gut spills all over his bloodstream like electricity until the magic finds an outlet through his wand.

It ends all too quickly and they're once more swallowed by darkness. As the waves crash savagely against the bluffs and sea-foam washes over the Order, Draco notices Hermione's eyes fixed on him. When he gets back to Headquarters, he sleeps for thirteen hours straight.

The following week is hectic with stakeouts and patrols, but their victory carries the team through it all and warms their bones during long hours in the cold. Their missions are always successful, and the lucky spell makes them confident, almost arrogant. Death Eaters attacks have died down a bit and Lupin looks as if he was getting more than two hours of sleep a night and gives them a whole weekend off. Harry and Hermione seem to work things out during that time. Their relationship is strained but they both look relieved when Harry makes a joke and Hermione rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs, as if everything had fallen back into place despite the chaos surrounding them.

Nobody says it out loud, but hope −discarded and hidden like an old, ugly scar for so long− spreads like wildfire, up until Julia Reid is found dead in her house and her nine-year-old son is reported missing. All efforts to locate and retrieve him are in vain, and his small body is later found out by a group of muggles in a hiking trail somewhere in Scotland.

The house is quieter than normal, almost as if the whole structure was holding its breath, when the two sombre wizards arrive at Headquarters with the news: no traces of torture have been found. Everything points to the fact that the little boy tried to get to her mother's murderers, bits of someone else's skin still under his nails, as if he had tried to attack them. Allegedly, he accidentally side-long apparated with the Death Eater, who then proceeded to end his life.

After Draco's team returns from their search, cut short by a patronus-delivered message, he stays alone in the living room for a long time, looking straight into the fire. His eyes seem to hurt as he rubs at them, and he finally gets up.

The young man is about to enter the kitchen when he hears whimpering and a suffocated voice that's gently shushed by another. He retreats and heads for his room. His footsteps are heavy as he starts climbing the stairs. Deep in thought, he straightens his slightly slouched spine when he catches a glimpse of long black hair that he's quick to identify with Wendy sneaking into Oliver's room. Perhaps, if he wasn't so tired, he would raise a surprised eyebrow, but as it is, he keeps climbing the stairs, face completely blank.

The door to Lupin's office is ajar and when Draco passes by, he hears Lupin's soft voice and sees Harry sitting on one of the armchairs, his back to the door and eyes fixed on his former professor, who is out of sight. Draco seems to briefly entertain the idea of listening to their conversation but he hears snippets of a phrase, "...but James was such a lightweight, we all…" a shy, pained laugh that sounds wet with a sniff prevents Draco from hearing what follows but he's already turning away, "...none of us could hold our Firewhisky like Lily did, she used to…"

Draco walks down the corridor and the voices fade away behind him. He starts undoing his muggle coat, which he never bothered to take off before. When he gets to his room, he finds that someone's already sitting on his bed.

Hermione seems stunned when she looks up at him, and he frowns, as if wondering how long she's been there. The young woman stands up hastily and Draco drowns a groan in the back of his throat as he barks out, "What do you want?"

Hermione doesn't miss a beat, and it almost seems like she's prepared what to say. "Where do your loyalties lie?" Draco looks up to the ceiling. He scrunches up his long and pointed face with a pained expression, not in the mood to comment on her pomposity.

"Get out, Granger," he sighs, tired and impatient as he carelessly discards his coat on top of the chair by the door.

"You could leave, hide, flee the country, or even try to go back to them… you have enough information on the Order that they might spare you"

Taking three strides, and passing the intruder by, Draco slumps down on his bed. He reaches down to untie his boots' shoelaces as he mumbles humourlessly, "I don't think a long-distance relationship is what Walburga and I need right now."

"Do you believe in our cause?" Her question sounds more like a demand from the Wizengamot judge, and Draco clenches his teeth as he starts peeling off his socks. When he looks up at her, his jaw is so sharp it might cut at the touch.

"What cause is that anyway? Playing the saviour and practising poses in front of the mirror for the press?" he scorns.

"Recognition?" Hermione snorts, "That's what you think we're after? That's completely ridicu−"

"What is completely ridiculous," and there's heat in his words now, "is your conviction that you're the good guys and they're the bad guys. There's a lot of grey in between, but you lot choose not to see it."

"Oh, yeah actually, Voldemort seems like a nice guy, I'm just biased," Hermione bites out, and she takes a couple of steps forward, cheeks flushed, and her unruly mane floating behind her like a cloud.

Draco doesn't respond, just lets out a pained moan and takes his jumper off.

"You know what we stand for."

"Suicide," he retorts, and his exhaustion is clear in the position of his shoulders, his tousled hair and the light stubble that covers his chin.

Hermione stays silent for a few seconds, and he ends up searching for her eyes. She's frowning, personally affronted. "You really think we'll lose?

"I know you will," he's quick to spit out, "You haven't seen what I have."

"So what are you doing here?"

"Isn't it enough for you that I'm here at all?" he responds irritably as he rubs at his eyes again.

"I need to know you won't betray us."

Her voice sounds small now, her arms crossed over her chest. The self-righteousness and anger are a façade that's slipping off. The blond slumps down in his bed, taking his long-sleeved shirt off, so that his torso is naked.

"I'm not going to tell you what you want to hear because it's not true, and you already know," he grabs his wand from the pocket of his trousers and waves it at the curtains so they shut close.

Hermione follows his movements, eyes fixed on the tattoo that adorns his right arm, and once again stays silent. Draco follows her gaze, looking pained now, and real anger starts creeping from his chest towards his neck and face, leaving a trail of red on his skin. "Don't be stupid, they made me drink a gallon of Veritaserum, I wouldn't be here if they hadn't made sure I wasn't a psychopath."

"Then what is−"

"For Merlin's sake Granger," he raises his voice, "I'm fighting, I'm risking my life just like you are."

"But why?" Hermione lets out through gritted teeth, like she's holding back from hexing him.

"Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?" he retorts, "Shacklebolt gave me the green light. Don't be so egocentric as to think I need to answer to you, too."

"I want to hear you say it," she relentlessly demands.

"I fight because otherwise I would go crazy," he says, standing up and taking a couple of steps towards her, "I fight because I haven't ever made a choice for myself, except for this one. I want something, and I won't let you or Lupin or anyone get in the way of me getting it. You want to hear me say I will die for Potter like the rest of you would? Fuck off, I'm not part of a cult. You want to hear me say I will never betray you? I can't say that." He towers over her, their eyes glued together and their faces uncomfortably close, "And neither can you. This is war, you need to get the fuck down from your high horse and realise everyone has an agenda."

"Your mother−", she starts, her voice soft and finally understanding. His frustrated huff makes the curls on her forehead waft in the air for a second.

"Get out," Draco interrupts her as he turns her back to her.

This time Hermione doesn't fight back.

 _7th June_

Draco walks down the small path, the shadow of hundred-year-old oaks protecting him from the hot sun. He clutches in his hand a bouquet of flowers.

The gardens and the small cemetery have been neglected for months, but instead of finding the unkempt bushes displeasing, the over-grown grass dancing in sync with the breeze's seems to lend the place a sense of peace and other-worldliness. He reaches the end of the path and crouches down by the freshest grave. He seems out of his depth, not quite knowing what to do.

He's been sleeping quite well lately, but his eyes are rimmed red. A few days after talking to Hermione in mid-May, he was dispensed from any obligation with the Ministry and their front against the Dark terrorist cells and has regained access to his Gringotts vaults. It was obvious that Hermione had interceded on his behalf because the high office in the Ministry had even though it appropriate to write him an apology. At first, he had been angry, but he's got money for new clothes and flowers. He sleeps well, at least as long as the nightmares don't find him.

He sighs and lays his flowers on the grave with care.

"We need to stop meeting at cemeteries, it must be a bad omen, don't you think?" Draco's neck snaps back to meet the new voice. Andromeda is standing just behind him, a bouquet of flowers, much better arranged and bigger than his, in her hands.

"Carnations were always her favourite," his aunt says, pointing at Draco's bouquet. "She would have turned 43 today."

Draco nods his head, acknowledging her words awkwardly. They stay silent for a beat, and then he asks, "Where's the baby?"

"He's in good hands," she responds quietly, crouching down in her black robes to leave her bouquet by Draco's.

She stands and looks at him for a long time, "You know they wanted that Potter boy to be his godfather?"

Draco doesn't miss the obvious resentment in her voice at pronouncing his former classmate's name. He glances at her and nods. He most likely didn't know and definitely doesn't care, but he's not surprised. Andromeda seems a bit annoyed at him, as if expecting him to say something, and when he doesn't, her whole demeanour changes and she gives him a disconcerted, sad look.

"I guess no one told you…," she starts, and Draco gets distracted by a small bird flapping its wings overhead as it gains altitude, flying away from the cemetery, away from Malfoy Manor. "It was Remus really, who wanted Potter, but Nymphadora wouldn't have it. She chose you to be Teddy's godfather."


	8. VII

_I'm not really happy with this chapter and it's a bit shorter than usual too... but I hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think!_

 _Kudos to my beta!_

* * *

 **VII**

 _13th June_

It's all right at first. Awkward, for sure, because he doesn't seem to know what to say, where to look, when to breathe. He feels as inadequate as he looks, dressed all in black in a baby's room. Everything around him is soft, and the sharp lines of his features and his cold grey eyes clash against the stuffed animals in the cot and the light yellow of the walls.

It's all right. He listens to the woman's voice. Her tone is so painfully familiar to the one he hears in his nightmares that he digs his nails into his arms, just to remind himself he's awake.

"…too soon to know, of course, but I have an inkling he's a Metamorphmagus, just like his mother…"

Andromeda musters a taut smile at his grandson and rubs circles on his back. Her eyes turn sharp and impassive when she gazes up at Draco and takes in the way he's angling towards the door.

Draco remains quiet. There's been no question, so he doesn't need to respond. It's all right. But Andromeda's eyes are still fixated on him. Teddy makes a noise but neither of them register it.

"I'd like to pay a sum of money for rent," he finally says, words stuck to the depths of his throat.

His aunt raises an eyebrow. Her numerous rings catch the sunlight and almost blind him when she moves. It's all right. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

"I can help financially−"

"I don't want" Andromeda stops short and snorts, then tries again, "I don't _need_ your money, boy."

A tense silence surrounds them as the witch turns around and walks towards a window. Her back to him, she speaks again, "I remember the day Nymphadora came home to tell us…" she shakes her head, "I thought she was too young, and everything was moving too fast…I didn't tell her because she wouldn't have listened. And then she wanted you to be the baby's grandfather and I understood −I might not have a grandson if it weren't for you− but that time I told her. You, or bloody Potter for that matter… you're just children, just like her," she sighs but there's still heat in her voice, "She never listened."

Draco stands still. His face is blank but the way he buries his hands in his pockets screams discomfort. He keeps quiet and it's still all right, at least until there's a voice calling out Andromeda's name from the living room. The black-haired woman turns towards Draco and hands him the baby with a stern look, then leaves the nursery to take the Floo call.

It's suddenly not all right.

The blond looks at the two-month-old he's holding by the armpits and keeps him as far from him as he possibly can. At first, Teddy looks unfazed, but after a while he grimaces, and his eyes start to water. When the beginning of a whimper escapes the baby's lips, Draco swears under his breath.

Teddy takes in a lungful of air, no doubt so that he can start properly bawling, and Draco warns him sternly, "No."

He repeats it twice hastily as the baby scrunches up his tiny nose, but it's to no avail. Teddywaves his small fists and his face reddens furiously. Draco tries to hush him, swears again and awkwardly brings the baby closer to his chest. Teddy's sobbing seems to diminish, and Draco purses his lips, a pained gesture all over his face as he hushes him again, tells him no, calls him by his name. The crying slowly dies down, but the baby's head lolls back and Draco holds it hesitantly, wincing at how warm the baby's skin is in contrast with his perpetually freezing hands. Teddy however, doesn't seem to mind. He looks up at Draco, with hazed eyes, a bubble of snot popping in his left nostrils and a wrinkled brow. Draco's jaw clenches, uneasy, but he can't seem to look away from the child's eyes.

The two windows in the room are wide open and a light breeze flirts with the white curtains, which sway and dance to the soft wind's teasing. The buzzing of bees and the lazy heat of a summer afternoon lurk outside the house. The atmosphere is somnolent and indolent, and Teddy closes his eyes, mouth open and tiny fists resting on his godfather's chest.

There's a sombre look in Draco's eyes.

 _1st February_

"Okay," the irritated huff that escapes Wendy after being interrupted does nothing to shut Oliver up. "That is not what happened at all."

"Team B wasn't in the designated location, Wood," Hestia Jones bites out, brow furrowed and arms crossed over her chest. Wendy nods at her with gratitude and sends a defiant look towards the former Quidditch captain.

"We weren't in place because Podmore told us to stay behind at the last minute…" Oliver bangs his fist on the dining room table, the ugly arrangement of dry flowers in the centre quivers precariously but doesn't topple over. The rest of them are sat down around the dark wood table but Oliver is standing up, face flushed and a vein in his temple throbbing.

Their last mission required them to split into smaller groups, and the lack of proper organization and communication meant almost half of them suffered injuries and curses. The shortage of Skele-Gro and Essence of Dittany forced them to patch each other up as best as they could with basic healing magic, and let Bill and Hermione take care of the worst. Now, writing the report, which is usually a two-person job, has turned into a debate match, since each team has to recount their side of the story.

"Podmore… that's team A, is it?" Hermione mumbles over the parchment. She looks up expectantly, resting her quill on the inkwell so it doesn't drip all over the report. Bill gives her a curt nod, as the rest of them are too busy bickering. She jots it down neatly. They first tried using a self-writing quill but after Oliver's colourful swearing was faithfully reflected on the parchment, Hermione resorted to serve as the group's scribe.

Draco is leaning back on his chair, and the cold frustration plastered over his sharp features is a rightful contender to Oliver's tempestuous mood. His eyes are fixed on the dark, old-fashioned wallpaper above Wendy's head. He's probably thinking about how much he needs to wash up, preferably with scrubbing alcohol, since defensive spells -specially _Expelliarmus_ \- smell like sulphur and wet dog. When they had returned last night, he had favoured a can of soup that he didn't even bother to heat up, and his uncomfortable bed over a shower.

"And that's when the _Dream Team_ saved the day?" asks Wendy, as she points at Hermione first and then at Draco.

The blond boy's attention goes back to the conversation when several pairs of eyes turn to look at him, but he doesn't say a word. Hermione rolls her eyes and continues writing.

"They disobeyed direct orders…" starts Oliver, with a frown and resentment in his voice.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a sore loser," Hestia pitches in humourlessly.

Oliver grumbles something and sulks but there's no time to debate anymore, as Vivian arrives in that moment, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips by the time she crosses the threshold, and a quick-to-follow complaint about missions not being spaced out enough, and how do they expect them to do a good job if their magic cannot rest.

Before the door closes after her, Ron sneaks in and makes a beeline for Hermione. Bill grabs him by the arm to tell him something, but the youngest brother shakes his hand off and Bill rolls his eyes, muttering something about teenagers. Ron doesn't seem to hear him as he crouches down by Hermione's chair, tugging at her sleeve to get her attention and whispering a few words in her ear. Hermione shoots him a look and responds something in a clipped tone.

Ron stands up, and not bothering to keep his voice down he says, "We're leaving, Hermione, whether you like it or not."

His words have a nuance of sadness to them, but the overall tone, which is mirrored by his eyes, is one of resentment. Hermione looks up at him for a second before resuming her writing.

"You can't," she responds in a tired voice, as if they had had that conversation a number of times before, "you don't have any new leads."

"Well, you're not exactly helping us come up with anything either, are you?"

Hermione gives him a hurt look and Draco raises an eyebrow, almost amused.

A few nights prior, Bill had woken him up in the middle of the night after they had been informed of violent attacks against Ministry higher-ups. An anti-Voldemort anarchist group had started raiding their houses, killing as many Voldemort allies as they could, and murdering one undercover Order agent and wounding two others in the process. He had asked Draco to wake Oliver and regroup with everyone else in the meeting room. As Draco ran down the corridor, still pushing his left hand through his jumper's sleeve, he'd noticed Hermione's bedroom door wide open and caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding inside. Wendy was whispering something to her and shaking her shoulder lightly. Hermione had jerked up abruptly from her fetal position, still fully clothed. A blue flame confined in a jar was burning away by her bedside table, and there were at least half a dozen books opened on the floor and besides her in the bed, no doubt borrowed from the Black library. She had been taking notes, the ink splattered all over her fingers and her duvet were proof of that.

Ron, seemingly ignorant of the fact that she's still using her non-existing free time to do as much research as she can. Hermione makes no sign to fight her friend's statement back, fixing the redhead with a hard look instead.

"Harry− you know he's been seeing…" Ron stops, unsure of how to go on, and suddenly aware of their surroundings, " _He_ is abroad, somewhere in eastern Europe, we don't know what he's after but…" there's a hint of desperation to his voice, "Xenophilius might have something."

Hermione's eyes widen, and she shushes him. Ron looks around them but Draco, contrary to Podmore, who looks away and turns his heads, makes no effort to hide the fact that he's listening to their conversation.

"It's a meaningless symbol. It is not worth risking Harry's life," Hermione spits out, resting the quill carefully in its jar and standing up.

Ron looks hurt, and he blushes furiously when he snaps, "You don't even pretend to care about me anymore."

Hermione lets out a frustrated sigh, "Don't make this about you, Ronald. You know I…"

"It's what Harry wants. And we promised him to do this with him, whatever it took."

They exchange a meaningful look. The young witch looks away first, and seemingly having forgotten about her magic, she takes the report from the table and blows air over it so the ink dries faster. At seeing her indifference, Ron's wounded expression falls, and he looks angrier than before. On the other side of the room, Vivian is now reminding the team all about this week's emergency safe-house in case the portkey to Headquarters malfunctions or someone can't get to it in time.

"It's not just any symbol, Hermione… It was handwritten" he insist, lowering his voice, "and you know who gave that book to us… There's no such thing as a coincidence when it comes to…"

"It's a doodle in a children's book." Hermione remarks with a snort, cutting him off. She shoots her friend a glance and after a pause she adds, "Lupin won't allow it," Impatience and anger start creeping in her features as well.

Ron's sardonic laugh attracts everyone's attention. Hermione's hands clench into fists involuntarily, and the parchment crumples in her grasp.

"Hypocritical much?" He hisses, and the sudden silence seems to amplify his words. After realising everyone's eyes are on them, Ron turns around to leave but stops short to look back at her friend and the ruined parchment in her right hand, "Playing Auror doesn't suit you, Hermione, and neither does abandoning us."

For a split second it seems as though she's about to break, guilt spilling all over her face, but an unknown force seems to inject her with newfound animosity as the bushy-haired girl takes two strides towards Ron. Her impossibly straight back makes her seem taller, and her nose is pointing up and nearly touching Ron's chin. There's now pride and self-righteousness in her demeanour, and the spite in her words makes her voice sound estranged and foreign, almost as if it wasn't hers, "You're not one to talk."

At the rising of their voices, Vivian asks Ron to leave, since the team needs to do a last-minute review of the next mission. Everyone resumes talking in low tones, but the tension makes the air feel heavy around them, the dark wall seemingly closing in on them. Draco's eyes follow Ron's back out of the room and then they return to Hermione. The redhead doesn't slam the door on his way out, but Hermione winces and squeezes her eyes shut when the door clicks closed with a sense of finality.

:::

Several hours later, a loud noise indicates the arrival of the team in the living room of Grimmauld Place. There's a second of complete, blissful silence before Walburga's portrait starts screaming bloody murder. Someone makes a pained noise and gets up from the floor. The first lights come in from the outside warming over their tired, spent bodies but it takes the rest a while to follow Vivian's example.

Draco cleans up his bloody nose with his sleeve and after inhaling and screwing up his whole face in pain, he takes to breathing through his mouth. Podmore levitates Bill's unconscious body and makes to leave towards the makeshift infirmary in the second floor.

A few feet away from them, Wendy's laying on the floor, her body strangely stiff. She's wide-awake but whining and shaking uncontrollably. Hermione rushes to her side, whispering comforting things in a raw, broken voice. She tries to get her to sit up, but Wendy's body has gone completely limp as she cries quietly. Hermione takes the pale girl's arm and wraps it around her shoulders trying to pull both of their bodies up, but the extra weight is too much and Wendy's hair, wet from rain and sweat falls all over Hermione's face. Oliver approaches them and takes Wendy's other arm around his neck before they can all stand up. He mumbles something about doing it on his own, but Hermione doesn't seem to hear him as she takes a step forward.

"Stop," comes Draco's cold, cutting voice and the sharp alarm makes everyone follow his order. When they look towards him, he's wielding his wand.

There's a split second of confusion and then Vivian swears and there's no need for an explanation. Everyone reaches for their wand. There's none in the room, none asking safety questions, no wands pointing at them, just to be sure, none dozing off in the armchair by the fire, not even Mundungus' out-of-tune humming from the kitchen.

A voice calls out from upstairs, but Walburga keeps screaming and it's impossible to make out the words. Footsteps and voices can be heard from above and a moment later, Shacklebolt and Lee Jordan appear in the threshold of the living room.

Lee looks anxious, and his eyes travel around the room, seemingly looking for something. When he doesn't find it, he turns to go.

Shacklebolt doesn't seem bothered in the slightest by the wands pointed at him. Vivian surges forward but she needn't say anything, as the broad-shouldered man speaks, with defeat patent in his tone.

"Potter and Weasley are gone."

:::

Draco barges into the bathroom on the third floor and Hermione jumps from the edge of the tub where she was sitting. She seems to have been fixing a few small cuts in her arms and face.

The blond hesitates, as if pondering whether to find an unoccupied bathroom, but Hermione looks down and taps her wand to her bruised skin, blatantly ignoring him and so he takes a step forward.

He glances at her from the corner of his vision and frowns. He usually prefers to fix his own wounds by himself, in the privacy of his room, though this time he needs a mirror. She, however, has never been one to turn down Molly's or Keen's comforting arm around her shoulders as they guide her to the infirmary. She's not in her room either, where anybody could easily find her…

"Are you hiding in here, Granger?" he asks with a hoarse voice that doesn't even try to sound mocking. He's too tired for that. She pretends not to hear him. "Locking the door might help next time," he comments lightly and grimaces a bit when he forgets to breathe through his mouth.

Hermione looks up at that, but her eyes are distant, as if it's taking her a while to fight the fog in her mind to think clearly. After a second, a slightly annoyed tug to her mouth, she points her wand at the door and whispers, " _Colloportus_." The door obediently closes and a vague white light flashes in the lock for half a second.

Draco moves to the sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror. The bags under his eyes are as bad as usual, and his hair is getting in his eyes. He opens the tap and wets his hand so that when he runs a hand through his hair, back and away from his forehead, it stays there. He then grips the edge of the sink and clenches his jaw. He moves closer and studies his broken nose carefully. With his free hand, he points his wand at his face, and starts mouthing, " _Epis…_ "

"Do you not know how stupid that is? Pain affects your magic, it unbalances it and makes it impossible to control." Her voice sounds as exhausted as she feels.

Grey eyes meet brown in the mirror, and he clicks his tongue. Hermione glares and Draco grinds his teeth and grumbles in irritation. He seems to lose the unvoiced discussion because he sighs and lowers his right arm after a moment.

Hermione spies him from under her lashes, as he turns around and sits on the closed toilet seat in front of her. From up close, he's able to notice her puffy eyes and the trace that tears have drawn down her cheeks. And she can see the bump in his once aristocratic nose. Perhaps, she can also see the way his hands tremble inadvertedly.

The bushy-haired girl waits, but he stares at her stubbornly without a word. "Saying please wouldn't hurt…" she mumbles distractedly as she bends towards him, their knees bumping together. He looks up to the ceiling while she examines his nose. She cups his cheek to keep him in place, and he sets his jaw.

" _Episkey,_ " she casts the healing spell without warning while pointing at the broken nose. Draco groans in pain, and screws his eyes shut, the light erupting from her wand having blinded him for a moment. When he opens his eyes, Hermione cleans the dried blood covering his face, but she looks troubled, eyes void and mind far away.

Draco tries to breathe through his nose again and stands up to check the result in the mirror, he hums, turning to look at his former classmate. "Apparently Podmore told Shacklebolt about our last mission and he thinks we should pair up for something next week."

Hermione doesn't look at him, doesn't even react, but merely mumbles, "I might not be here next week."

Draco rolls his eyes, "Don't be so fucking dramatic, Granger. They'll come back."

And they are, only a few hours later.

It's the early afternoon when Harry apparates them back to Headquarters. Walburga is of course the first to welcome them home, and her deafening shrieks are followed by the incessant squeaking and creaking of footsteps running over the old wooden floor, and doors opening and closing, voice calling out from different points of the house.

They find Harry in the middle of the living room, slumped under Ron's bodyweight, who he's trying to hold upright. The raven-haired boy responds easily to Lupin's question, and the werewolf springs forth to catch Ron's unconscious body.

The redhead is hurried to the second floor by one of his twin brothers, but Harry assures them he's just been hit with a particularly strong _Confundus_. Apart from a few cuts and bruises, and his broken glasses, which he is holding in his left hand, he seems to be unharmed.

While every inhabitant in the house observes from a distance, Harry has the decency to appear apologetic, but the moment he turns to Hermione, there's a flicker of determination in his eyes, a promise: "I will tell you about it later". But the young witch looks away, eyes rimmed in red.

 _13th June_

It takes Andromeda all of fifteen minutes to get back, but by then Draco's gone.

The witch walks to the cot calmly, a hard look on her eyes. There, she finds Teddy, quiet and content, flinging his fists around and kicking his feet in the air.


	9. VIII

_Sorry for the long wait, but voilà, here's chapter 8, I hope you like it, and please remember to review!_

 _Thanks to Lucy for beta-ing!_

* * *

 **VIII**

 _8th February_

Lupin's office is somehow always messier than the last time Draco visited it. Piles upon piles of documents and books, plans and lists cover every corner of the room, effectively slicing its usable space in two.

When the shelves and every other sensible spot to deposit reports and writing materials proved to be insufficient, Lupin started to slowly pile them up in the far left corner of the room and behind the door so as to not disrupt the flow of visitors. He then occupied the narrow shelf over the hearth, too, which was probably a poor decision, as sparks from the fire sometimes threatened to reach the flammable paper and burn down the entire room. Shortly after, the collection expanded to the old chairs in front of Lupin's desk, the intricate velvet upholstery now hidden under hundreds of scrolls of parchment so that he can no longer offer a seat to his visitors. Ben Campbell, a sullen Order veteran always makes sure to remark on the very fact with a snort worthy of a horse.

Meetings are always a struggle because of all the paraphernalia covering the room and the very limited space, so in the last few weeks they've migrated to thewindowless dining room down the corridor for the run-through of new missions.

A good six months prior, when Lee Jordan had asked why they had to file reports, as the Order wasn't even a legal organisation, Shacklebolt, who was there to congratulate Vivian and Owen's teams on a recent mission, had responded for Lupin, "When war is over, your reports will be trustworthy sources that'll explain what really happened." Lee had looked back down at his quill with an unsatisfied sigh and George had reached over to give his friend a new scroll of fresh parchment with a goofy grin.

Shacklebolt had then moved over to Lupin's fireplace and taken a fistful of Floo Powder from the metal tin on top of the pile of logs. "They will also come in handy when we are called to testify at the Wizengamot." He had added easily before mumbling an address and disappearing in a burst of green smoke.

Right now, a placid silence fills Lupin's office. Draco stands by the window, his gaze following the muggles passing by, unaware of the fact that no mistake was made by an absent-minded urban planner and there is indeed a number 12 in Grimmauld Place, although invisible to their eyes.

Behind him, Hermione roams around the room, never too far from the overflowing shelves. Her head bent, she reads the title of every book, sometimes grazing the shabby leather covers with reverent fingers.

A clock somewhere in a nearby room strikes four in the afternoon and Draco turns around and leans against the wall, his eyes on the door. His right hand, in a seemingly accidental gesture, reaches for his pocket, where his wand is. Hermione follows his movements with the corner of her eye but she, too, turns around. She takes a couple steps towards the desk and busies herself with digging through the unorganized heaps of parchment. She seems to have found something interesting because she stops short, frowning at an open book, beforehand covered by a million documents.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," comes a soft raspy voice from the entrance. Remus Lupin's eyes travel quickly to the open book on his desk and a lazy wave of his wand closes it. Hermione looks up, a frown wrinkling her forehead, and a faint blush covering her nose and cheeks at having been discovered. There are no other signs of embarrassment in her, though, only badly-concealed caution in her eyes that follow her former professor as he crosses the room in a couple of long strides.

"Sir…"

"I'm afraid there's no time to waste," the former professor mumbles, interrupting her. "You know why you're here," he pauses, looking first at Hermione and then at Draco. He sits at his desk. "I'll be honest, I was completely opposed to this, but Kingsley insisted on the urgency of the matter at hand… I'm sure he briefed you last night." Lupin clears his throat. "There are not many muggleborns who still have their wands, let alone are willing to risk losing it by working against the Ministry. Most half-bloods in the Order are constantly watched, and Ministry officials have been arresting them under false pretences in the past months. You're the only one I trust for this mission." Lupin takes his eyes off Hermione to fix them on Draco as he continues, "Alastor's loss was a huge blow for us. Unlike the rest of us who are only well-versed in Defence against the Dark Arts, he had studied dark magic for decades. I don't know to what extent you're familiar with the field, but I would bet my Gringotts' vault that you know more than any of us."

The bushy-haired girl shoots a look at Draco, perhaps awaiting an affirmative answer but the blond boy merely holds Lupin's stare.

Lupin gets up, taking his glasses off and massaging the bridge of his nose for a second. The worry in his words is patent when he says, "You two are a perfect fit for the mission. Hermione, you'll have no trouble navigating the muggle world, and," he looks at Draco, "I'm hoping you can follow the lead. You'll meet Mr. Callaghan at the designated spot. Do not make direct contact until you're alone. He's a Ministry high rank and was believed to be pro-Voldemort until he asked for asylum from the Order. Shacklebolt has managed to get his hands on some Polyjuice potion…"

Hermione inhales sharply, her eyes fixed on Lupin, and Draco raises an eyebrow.

It hasn't been long since the Ministry closed down almost every apothecary in Great Britain and passed laws against unsupervised distribution of magical gadgets, potion ingredients and several broom models. Since then, the Order has been rationing everything they have left. Some herbs and flowers are easy to come across, but many other ingredients cannot be found in British soil. Polyjuice potion is made from rare ingredients and it requires a very long time to brew, so finding it in the black market, and paying the exorbitant price it no doubt costs is nothing short of a miraculous feat.

Lupin continues. "The muggle world is the safest place for you two, anyway, especially with the right disguise." He seems to be trying to convince himself that this is a good idea, but by the deep frown between his eyes, it's not going well. He produces two vials from a drawer in his desk and hands one of them to Hermione and the other one to Draco who notices his initials engraved in the cork. "Be careful. None can know who you are. The potion should last long enough but if it starts to wear off, you're to leave immediately."

Someone knocks on the door loudly and without waiting for a response enters the room. Bill nods at Draco and Hermione and looks at Lupin, "We're ready."

The former professor stands up and points at the two teenagers, a sigh trapped in his throat when he says: "Bottom's up."

They comply, Hermione making a face after catching a sniff of her vial. Draco downs his in one go and she follows suit, tilting her head back. Before she's swallowed it, Draco's body starts to transform and the Slytherin heaves. His shoulders hunch forward as his features become softer, his nose decreases in size and his eyes turn brown. Hermione holds on to the back of one of the chairs as she grows several inches taller, her light brown hair straightens and darkens so it's barely grazing her shoulders.

Bill and Lupin converse in quiet tones for a moment and Lupin clicks his tongue at something the younger wizard tells him. After a while, Bill clears his throat, addressing the two trembling figures. "I will be only a few blocks away from you, at the Cat's Tail. It's the only pub in London that serves muggleborns anymore and has become a meeting place for people on the run. The owner wants to keep it under the radar, so we can't risk bringing in someone that might be a Death Eater ally." He searches for something under his cloak and inside his vest and he produces a small leather pouch. He then opens it and shows them a small tin box with a faded Pepperup mint brand logo. The redhead is wearing gloves as not to touch it directly. "You'll give him this portkey to a safe location where someone is waiting for him." Bill takes a step forward, putting the tin into the pouch again and giving it to Hermione as he speaks. "Then you come for me, a wand tracking spell should do the trick. I'll take you back home in time for supper." He smiles, patting the chest pocket under his cloak where the portkey to headquarters must be hidden.

"If anything goes wrong," Lupin starts, and his gaze stays a second longer on Draco, "apparate to a safe house, then send a Patronus to Bill and he'll come find you."

There's another knock on the door and Allard Reed comes in, giving the now completely transformed duo a strange look before turning to talk to Lupin without a comment. The six-inch height difference between Hermione and Draco is gone, as she's grown taller and he's now shorter. His hair has changed into a dirty blond colour and his cheeks, lips and belly are fuller, his eyes are a little too small, his shoulders are broader, and a dark scruff covers his chin. Hermione's skin has turned a beautiful darker colour. Her hips have widened considerably, and her fingers are now long and elegant without a sign of her bitten nails. Her hair is straight and as black as Harry's, her bangs falling into her eyes constantly.

As Lupin searches for a document around his desk and shows Reed, Draco takes an interest in looking out of the window again. The muggle street is filled by the soft afternoon light that's slowly turning pinker in the winter sunset. His features, although softer, don't mask his cold stare completely.

A few feet away from him, Bill approaches Hermione. The Slytherin is close enough that he can hear their conversation but something in his demeanour shows he's not paying attention, instead fixed on the world moving outside.

"Have you talked to Ron lately?" the eldest Weasley sibling asks.

Hermione huffs and shifts her weight from one leg to the other. "I haven't seen much of him at all, Harry told me he's staying at the Burrow."

The redhead scratches his nape, "Yeah, he was staying there but he had a fight with mum yesterday and he's staying with Fleur and I," he pauses and clears his throat, "Any reason why he's avoiding you? Have you had a, er… personal fight?"

Despite the fact that her new eyes can't quite mimic her murderous glance, Bill's ears redden. "No Bill, he hasn't even said a word to me since they came back from their trip because he's mad I didn't come with. Harry's suddenly obsessed with a children's bed story, and Ron's apparently decided he needs a holiday from the war. I don't have time for personal fights, especially with that git."

Bill sighs and nods, changing the topic to ask about Wendy, who's been in the infirmary since their last mission. Hermione, arms crossed and burrowed frown, gives him a surly response as her eyes follow Lupin's seeing off Reed and closing his office door after him, then approaching the window and talking shortly to Draco, who she sees nod sharply.

After a moment of silence between both men, Lupin moves away and pats the young wizard on the back. Draco tenses and Hermione's eyes narrow, barely registering Bill's words.

Lupin goes back to the presiding position behind his desk and checks his watch. He runs through the plan once more whilst Draco, a few feet behind the rest of them, continues to look determinedly out of the window. He grits his teeth and his left hand rises to lightly touch his right temple, then falls down to his side to draw a pattern in his right hand. He hasn't been listening to Lupin, instead concentrating in his movements, but he looks over his shoulder at his old professor when Lupin mentions his name in a tired, yet vaguely amused tone.

"Mr. Malfoy, I didn't take you for the religious type."

The blond shrugs nonchalantly and buries his hands in his pockets, when he can no doubt feel the comforting weight of his wand. The sharp lines of his lips suggest he's not pleased. "Just superstitious."

His response seems to catch Lupin off guard as he nods, a sad tug to his mouth. Hermione looks at Bill from the corner of her eye, but he seems as disconcerted as she looks. Lupin asks them to put on their muggle coats and gather around Bill, who will leave them in an alleyway by the Cat's Tail.

:::

Central London is a maze of wide streets and buildings that tower over the flow of pedestrians spilling down the pavement. The voices of the crowd intertwine, anger and laughter mixing with the sound of a kiss and the shriek of a child that's dropped their toy behind.

The flickering traffic light momentarily dyes the back of Hermione's coat bright red, but when she looks over her shoulder to make sure Draco's still there, it changes to green, which spills over her face. He looks at her intently then, perhaps admiring the traits of her borrowed appearance, perhaps trying to find something of her real self hidden under the alien high cheekbones and strong chin. She almost trips when someone in a hurry pushes her inadvertently. Hermione looks in front of her and Draco catches up to her without a word. He purses his lips as he observes the chaos of the rush hour with caution, his head turning abruptly towards a lanky old man playing the guitar in a corner they pass by.

Hermione shoots him a look as she guides them through the busy streets, through a park and by a decrepit church, and finally diverts to a quieter neighbourhood. "What's up with you and Lupin?", she suddenly blurts out.

At first, Draco pretends not to hear her, his tight jaw the only response to her question. He looks around, his eyes thorough in their examination. A couple of friends share a cigarette at the entrance of a cheap-looking pub, and an old lady carries her groceries slowly, back hunched and sorrow in her features.

"What did you see on his desk that got your cloak in a twist?" He fires back, voice clipped.

Hermione stops short and responds with another question, "What did he mean when he said you're religious?"

He slows down as she's the one that knows the way, throws a look over his shoulder, arching his right eyebrow, and it looks stupid in his new round face, but he makes it patronising anyway. "Seems like you don't have much to bargain with."

She huffs, eyeing him for a few seconds, then keeps walking a few strides in front of him. Draco's eyes travel upwards to the sky, which has rapidly turned a dark shade of blue as night falls over them like a blanket. He grits his teeth, seemingly impatient, but a few minutes later they arrive to the meeting point.

The automatic doors of the local supermarket open with a faint bell sound announcing their presence to the teenager at the cashier that's too busy flicking through a gossip magazine to greet the new customers.

Hermione checks her watch, but there's no need. She already knows they're early. Neither of them has uttered another word on the way there and she looks over her shoulder, ready to break the silence, but she catches a glimpse of another supermarket employee who observes Draco's curiosity about the cooling shelves with suspect. Hermione smiles at him and tugs at Draco's arm.

"Come on, sweet pea, we need eggs!" She exclaims way too excitedly as he drags him through the dairy aisle.

As soon as they're out of sight, Hermione lets go of his arm. Draco shoots her a look that doesn't match his new warm, kind eyes. He unzips his coat and looks around, lips pressed tightly and shoulders tense.

They both stay silent, eyes glued to the door, roaming around a few aisles so as to keep the pretence of a couple doing the weekly shop but never losing sight of the entrance. Draco huffs, and when he looks around, almost paranoid, his forehead and upper lip glisten in the fluorescent lights with sweat.

"There's no buzzing." Hermione states in a soft voice, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

Draco frowns and his fingers drum on his leg repeatedly, but his eyes never leave the supermarket manager that's hissing instructions at the teenage cashier. She's been forced to put her magazine away and is nodding frantically.

"Everything is too immobile and silent… too numb." She says, and he looks at her, annoyed and curious at once. "It's the lack of magic, it was always like that coming from Hogwarts to the muggle world in the summer. You get used to it."

He looks away and sneers, the tension in his shoulders doesn't ease but he seems to relax slightly. "You do know everything, huh?" He mutters.

"I don't," she says distractedly. "But I read a book that explained that magic moves in waves. It magnifies and replicates when it crashes with other magic sources but when there's none, it just disappears, or is absorbed by-"

Her sentence is interrupted by the soft ring of the automatic doors, Draco straightens up, and both of them grab hold of their wands, until then concealed under their clothes.

From their privileged position in the pet aisle, they observe how Mr. Callaghan, more distraught and hair whiter than in the photo Shacklebolt had showed them, barges into the supermarket. His eyes are wide with confusion and fear as he drags along a young woman by the shoulder. He's wielding his wand, high and proud.

"A hostage?" Hermione whispers in a low voice.

Draco is quick to answer, his eyes trained on the odd pair "No."

Coincidentally, the young woman trips and the old man keeps her from falling, looking at her and asking if she's okay. The woman nods, a terrified look in her eyes as they walk hurriedly through the aisles.

Hermione surges forward in their direction but a sudden loud noise and Draco's yank on her arm stop her in her tracks. Two hooded figures apparate out of thin air, wielding their wands and before anyone has time to react, the glass doors part open once again and four other masked figures enter the supermarket. Hermione ducks, side pressed to Draco's as they spy the newcomers over cat food tins.

The young cashier lets out a scream alerting the manager to exit the back room. He shoots his employee a harsh look, confused at the sheer horror on her face. He approaches the newcomers, a fake smile plastered on his face, cautious but unaware of the danger he's in, and asks them to put their _sticks_ away.

Draco wields his wand, jaw clenched so hard it might lead to a migraine later. The Death Eaters are now aiming at the manager, a sudden burst of green light hits him in the chest at the same exact moment that Draco fires a _Desmaius_. For a second, the static and stale air is filled with a spurt of magic, and Draco's fingers twitch inadvertently. The two bodies fall to the ground but only one of them is still alive.

The cashier screams again, and the Death Eaters move from the automatic doors towards the source of the attack. Draco tries to grab a hold of Hermione but she's quick to avoid him. She points her wand at the ceiling and mouths an inaudible spell. The fire sprinklers go off, and Hermione inhales deeply before she screams "Fire!"

Around them the world seems to pick up the speed as the few customers and employees in the supermarket exit the building hurriedly. The cashier has started crying, but her sobs fade away once the automatic doors close behind her. The Death Eaters ignore the muggles and start shooting curses at the general direction of Hermione and Draco.

This time, it's the Gryffindor who drags Draco away by yanking at his right arm. They make it to the end of the aisle, crouching down to keep out of view.

A loud " _Confringo_!" echoes in the now empty supermarket and it's their only warning before the curse hits the shelves by their heads and everything on them cascades down. Draco ducks down, taking his teammate with him and Hermione gasps when she hits her head but doesn't miss a beat before casting an _Expelliarmus_ at the black figure that rounds the shelf to find them. His wand flies out of his grasp and into the heaps of fish flakes and dog toys. Draco groans and stands up, firing a body-bind curse against the wandless Death Eater.

"They're here!" the masked figure screams from the floor, and several pairs of feet move in their direction.

Draco and Hermione start running, careful not to slip on the wet floor. They keep running, head turning left and right to check every aisle for the old wizard and the young witch to no avail. "Must've disapparated," Hermione mutters. Draco casts a shield spell over them when a ray of white flies too close for comfort. Hermione shoots _Levicorpus_ , _Desmaius_ and _Stupefy_ all in one breath at the moving dark figures.

"We need to leave," Draco says between curses. Hermione stops short and Draco swears and tries to deflect the curses flying their way.

"We're the Order," Hermione says, false determination making her voice sound odd.

Draco looks over his shoulder at Hermione's words, he can't see much with the mist going in his eyes, but he can make out the figures of an immobile Callaghan lying on the floor by the teenage girl. His momentary distraction serves him to be reached by a bone crashing curse. He lets out a groan and holds his middle as he falls against nearby shelf, Hermione, panic in her eyes, turns around and disarms the Death Eater with a flick of her wand.

However, a rain of hexes and curses fall over them as the rest of Death Eaters close in on their aisle. A few bottles explode around them and glass splinters cut Draco's face and hand. He staggers backward still firing spells, but his shield is broken by the Death Eaters' counterattacks and he groans again. Behind him, Hermione confounds the terrified girl and grabs hold of her and Mr. Callaghan. The Slytherin, voice hoarse and hand trembling with effort and rage, exclaims " _Depulso_!" and the banishing charm sends the four Death Eaters flying back.

He then stumbles over to Hermione, a grimace contorting his face. Hermione grabs his forearm and kneels, forcing Draco to fall with her. She then holds the confounded girl's hand and Draco clasps his over Mr. Callaghan and Hermione's arms. By then she's already pronouncing the disapparating spell.

They hear screaming and Draco sees a spurt of colours fly towards them, jaw clenching. He closes his eyes, as if preparing to be hit by several curses at once, but darkness engulfs them before they reach them. When the world starts spinning around, Draco mumbles something as his fingers loosen and he lets go of Hermione's arm.

:::

A loud noise, and two bodies hit the floor. There's light again. Oxygen rushes in through Draco's nose after the brief moment of nothingness, and the Ministry official, until then unconscious, gasps for air. Draco gets up, holding his ribcage. Both men are wet from the fire sprinkler and the humid wind makes them shiver. They are in the small park Draco and Hermione passed by on their way towards the supermarket. In fact, they are close enough that they can hear the police sirens and the chaos of a few streets away.

Only a small dog, immobile and sniffing the grass, seems to have witnessed their arrival out of thin air. Its owner is on the other side of the park, talking to a bulky device he holds to his ear.

The dog, a mixed breed of Cocker Spaniel starts to run towards them barking and Draco's quick to cast a _Disillusionment_ charm around them. The dog stops on its tracks but keeps on barking until its owner calls him over, then it growls and trots away. In that exact moment, Draco's wand trembles slightly, warning him that someone in his team is trying to locate him. He turns around, too quickly for his likely broken ribs because he groans, then summons the older wizard's wand out of his fingers.

"Stand up," he orders.

"Where is Amanda?" the other man asks, panic forcing his words out in an anguished tone.

The Slytherin points his wand at him as encouragement, teeth grinding with impatience and the Ministry official complies, face stricken with fear, and legs wobbly.

"You are Peter Callaghan. Head of the newly-founded Department of Anti-Subversive forces. You requested refuge from the Order a few days ago. Is this information correct?" Draco's voice is clipped.

The Ministry official nods, and then repeats his response aloud with a faint "Yes."

"The Order was under the impression that _you_ needed help. Who is the girl?"

"Amanda," he repeats, seemingly both relieved and scared of talking about her, "my granddaughter. She's been targeted by my own Department," he wriggles his hands, "I don't know who reported her and I tried to stop the… she's just a girl! She must have made a stupid joke at school and someone turned her in…" his voice acquires a higher pitch with every new sentence, and he looks at Draco as if pleading him to understand, "I took her out of Hogwarts a few weeks ago, after I cashed in a favour from Alecto Carrow. Her parents aren't in the country and I can't hide her forever…" he starts sobbing as he continues, "We're just trying to survive the war and after the Dark Lord took the Ministry we didn't have a choice, I've been loyal to him for months…and now I-I won't have her murdered!"

Draco seems unmoved by his story and, eyes glued to Callaghan, he states, "They knew we were going to be there."

"I don't know how-", the older wizard starts. He looks around, his wet white hair flies in all directions and sticks to his skull.

"The Death Eaters apparated to our location, which means they knew where to go," Draco interrupts the stuttering man, rage obvious in the way his jaw moves.

"We were followed." Mr. Callaghan says, face turning an odd shade of yellow, "I realised when it was too late… I was about to diasapparate but before I could I..."

Draco takes a few strides towards him. His features are blank from any expression, but his voice is ruthless. "Don't lie to me. The Death Eaters didn't get to you before we did… you stayed because you had it all planned out. The head of the political police? Don't make me laugh… You stayed to claim your reward after they got us."

"Don't be ridiculous," the old man hisses.

"But there are no ridiculous orders when it comes to the Dark Lord, are there? You just do what he asks of you, sacrifice what you need to sacrifice," Draco retorts.

Callaghan gives him a look, fearful again when he asks, "Who are you?"

Draco's face turns to a disgusted grimace, and he snorts, though there is no humour in his features. " _Crucia_ -"

" _Expelliarmus_!" comes a strong feminine voice from behind them and both Draco's and Callaghan's wands fly out of the former's reach before he can complete the curse. Before the Slytherin can turn around, the same voice, closer to them now, exclaims " _Incarcerous_ " and Draco grunts when a magical cord ties him up and he falls face-first, his chin and nose hitting the hard soil.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

Hermione's voice comes first, and then it's her murderous eyes looking down at him. Her hair has started to curl, and her face is returning to its original oval shape. She's pointing at him with her wand, there's distrust and fear staining her gaze.

"He's lying," Draco hisses through gritted teeth, but she's already turning away.

A few meters away, Callaghan runs to hug his granddaughter, who doesn't reciprocate the affectionate gesture and stays immobile, her gaze travelling over Callaghan's shoulder's and glued to Hermione.

Draco groans, realization drawn on his features. His voice is dry and almost inaudible when he calls for her. "It's her, Granger!"

The sharp features of the younger witch tense and she repeats Hermione's last name in a low voice. In the fraction of a second, two wands rise, one towards the sky, the other aimed at Draco.

A flash of orange comes out of Hermione's wand and Draco's freed from the charmed ropes. Hermione's face turned in his direction is almost funny in her alarm. An explosion of red in the sky that marks their position deafens them for a split second. Amanda pushes her grandfather away and she gapes at the other young woman in awe, "I knew you looked familiar…"

Hermione disarms a scared but oddly triumphant Amanda, and Draco summons his wand, bracing his ribcage. Callaghan observes the scene from the wet grass, a look of regret on his eyes. "It was you who confounded me when I tried to apparate us away," he mutters.

"We were the bait, papa, they'd have left if they had none to rescue," she responds, eyes still trained on Hermione and a sick smile playing on her lips. "And we found the leprechaun's pot… They chose me because of my connection to you, they told me you'd turn your back on the Dark Lord and seek help from the Order… I was just a little girl to them, but after I give them Granger, they will-"

"Merlin, what have you done?" shrieks Callaghan.

"When they get here, we will be honoured," the younger witch responds.

"Why?" Hermione deadpans, voice raw.

Several hooded figures apparate before them and Draco doesn't wait for the young witch to answer, he grabs Hermione's arm and disapparates them away.

The ally way by the Cat's Tail smells foul but it's dark and narrow so any muggles passing by would not notice the two figures appearing out of thin air, or any other magic folk that were regulars of the pub .

Hermione shakes Draco's arm off, her now back to curly hair bounces with the sudden movement. She is trembling just slightly from the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

"I thought your hand slipped off me. I thought you were about to die in a gutter somewhere from splinching one of your bloody lungs or something. I thought it was me who messed up the side-along _Apparition_ but you did it on purpose," she pauses, perhaps hoping for a negative response but her thoughts spill out of her mouth after a moment of silence. "You took Callaghan somewhere else so that you could…" She doesn't finish her sentence, upper lip contracted in disgust.

"I knew you'd get in the way." Draco confirms, his left hand still holding his ribs.

Hermione rests her back against one of the walls, ignoring the smell of urine, and her features get lost in the shadows. When she speaks, her voice is weak and bitter.

"Does it get you off? To use an unforgivable curse? Were you craving it after so many mon-?"

"The pain caused by a _Cruciatus_ is the only thing that can free a victim from the _Imperius_ curse when the caster is unidentified or out of reach," he interrupts her, cold grey eyes focusing where he guesses her eyes are. "There was something off and I thought he might be controlled by someone else." He turns away from her piercing eyes. He moves towards the street and adds, "I did what I had to do."

A deafening silence invades the alleyway for what feels like a century. Draco's about to exit towards the muggle street when he sees a flash of red hair. Bill, until then hanging around by the entrance of the Cat's Tail, spots him and walks towards them.

"That's what Lupin was talking to you about?" Hermione's question comes in a rushed whisper and he looks over his shoulders. He can see her again, having moved away from the wall, and her horrified look is telling him she doesn't really need an answer, but Draco's chest surges forward when he turns around. The desire to explain heavy on his chest and visible in his back-to-grey eyes. His lips close up in a fine line that refuses to open at first. "Not Lupin. Shacklebolt. Lupin was only reminding me it was a last resort."

Hermione looks down, perhaps enraged, perhaps ashamed. Most likely both. Draco doesn't even blink, as though he could never tear his eyes away from her. He seems to gloat over her horror when he snorts and drawls, "They wouldn't have golden boy Oliver Wood do the dirty work, now would they?"

"What did they offer you in return?", she asks, looking up at him, brows furrowed, and he blinks then, because pity is different. Pity he doesn't enjoy.

His lips twitch, but he hesitates, and then it's too late to talk.

"You're a bit late. Everything go all right?" Bill's words come from behind them, and Draco's head hangs whilst Hermione looks at him with wide fear-filled eyes, "I guess not then."


End file.
